


Quelling the Quill

by QuellerKay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Canon Divergence - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Forced Marriage, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, Snarky Banter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 72,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuellerKay/pseuds/QuellerKay
Summary: Voldemort has won and is trying a new angle to gain power. In a strategic marriage, he uses Hermione and Draco as pawns to win over the worldwide wizarding community. Being the new “It Couple” in the press, Hermione and Draco struggle to navigate a world in which they must present themselves as a Happy Couple in order to protect those they love. Can they overcome their differences to save not only themselves, but the entirety of the wizarding world?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 137
Kudos: 262





	1. Signature

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: This is my first bit of writing EVER outside of academic work, so please leave a review if you feel so inclined. A huge thank you to my incredible alpha, Helene (ribbonofsunshine), without whom this story would not be possible! Thanks also to my beta, venatryx, who is helping make this story the best it can be! Updates every other Wednesday.
> 
> Disclaimer: Unfortunately I do not own any of the characters or themes in this story. All credit for those go to JK Rowling.

As much as she wanted to think about anything other than what was about to happen with one of the most vile wizards in the whole of London, Hermione Granger couldn't think of anything but. She sat there watching the clock hands tick, tapping her foot as two Death Eaters she didn't recognize stood just outside the door to her left. Any moment now, Draco Malfoy would glide past them with that ugly, twisted sneer and join her in the worst legal decision to ever have been decreed.

**One Month Prior - Battle of Hogwarts**

Harry walked into the Forbidden Forest.

The remaining Order members, professors, and students tended to the dead and wounded. A short time had passed when Voldemort's disembodied voice rang through their ears once more, " _Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you and The Boy Who Lived is finished. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered as well as every member of their family. Support me now and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters, will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."_

Grief and panic struck amongst the fighters. Ginny dropped to the floor with a choked sob, George attempting to hold her up. Ron ran his hands through his hair with a look of shock and disbelief.

In the center of the Hall, Kingsley Shacklebolt scrambled to gather the adults and DA members, running through all possible plans of defense and further attack. Madam Pomfrey moved the injured, pulling Hannah Abbott along to help.

Feeling as though she were witnessing everything from fifteen feet above, Hermione stood frozen. The scene moved in slow motion in front of her until Ron wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. Her arms wrapped around him of their own accord.

"Hermione…" he choked out. "It's…I don't…"

She couldn't breathe.

McGonagall came rushing over and despite the tears streaming down her cheeks, she held a look of sheer determination. "I'm so sorry, but we don't have time to grieve now. Voldemort and his followers will be back any moment. We have to finish him off-"

"We can't." Hermione suddenly felt a rush of adrenaline. Stepping out of Ron's arms, she moved past McGonagall and towards the rest of the Order. "We need to leave right now. We have to get everyone out-"

"Hermione, what-" Arthur tried.

“Voldemort _isn’t_ coming back! He’s done what he came here to do. Harry is-” she swallowed, “dead.” The group went silent. “If we stay, we’ll have to fight the Death Eaters again. We can’t lose any more friends. We need to leave right now; to regroup and figure out a plan to destroy the snake.”

"The sna-?"

Neville stepped forward and spoke up, "I saw Harry just before he went into the forest. He told me specifically, ' _kill the snake._ '"

Hermione looked to Neville with solemn appreciation.

Without a moment's hesitation, McGonagall called for Kreacher and with a pop, he landed in front of her.

"Kreacher, we need to Apparate everyone out of here immediately. One elf to two people…Bill!" she called out, and he stepped towards them. "Bill, we need to get everyone to Shell Cottage _now_. We'll gather outside, set up tents, whatever we need to do, but we must stick together. I need you to tell the elves its location."

He replied with a curt nod, turning to follow Kreacher a few paces away where the elves gathered.

The exhausted fighters now murmured in fear, expressing their questions and ideas to each other. McGonagall silenced the entire Hall with several sharp, booming claps. "Everyone, I know we are all scared and hurting. Some of us may wish to finish this here and now. But we need to regroup and properly strategize our next moves. Get in pairs now and go with the elves!"

All throughout the Hall, people gathered closely, dividing up and Apparating away as the elves dispersed. There were only a few Order members left when Macnair and Yaxley flew through the doors, followed by a growing crowd of Death Eaters.

Hermione and Ron ran towards each other, casting defensive spells in every direction as the Hall started to fill. At that moment, an elf with emerald eyes appeared just a pace away, stretching his arm towards them.

"Miss! Sir! Grab my han-"

Faster than they could blink, the elf dropped to the floor.

Hermione rounded on the attacker without a second thought, "Sectumsempra!"

Someone who looked like an older, uglier Gregory Goyle hit the ground, bleeding from the gaping wounds covering his body. Streams of light were flashing in front of her eyes and she could only hear a few pops of Disapparition. McGonagall and Kingsley were in an intense battle, nowhere near any remaining elf.

"Hermione, come on! I see George." Ron tugged on her arm, casting an Impedimenta to his right.

"No- Ron, we have to bring him!" Hermione said, her voice tight, as she dropped to grab the elf's hand.

"Hermi-"

"Come! Come!" Kreacher popped up behind the pair. "Leave Hudsey!" He grabbed Hermione's other arm and pulled her hand free from the fallen elf's.

Rushing away and dropping Hermione's hand, Ron yelled to her over his shoulder, "I have to help George!"

"No! Ron-" she reached for her friend as the world in front of her started to spin black.

**Present Day**

At the precise moment the clock hands landed together on the twelve, Hermione saw a flash of silver-blonde in her peripheral stride past the guards. He stopped in the entryway. Without a glance in his direction, Hermione bore her eyes into the clock high on the wall ahead of her, fidgeting with the hem of her dirty jumper. She would not look at him. She did not want to see his sneering face or watch him brood over the decisions made by a man…no, _creature_ , he supported. People had _died_. Friends. Family. Children had been orphaned. And he gets to be mad about this? _No_. She would not entertain it.

"Sit down, Draco," a smooth, yet sharp voice rang through the tiny space. Lucius Malfoy sauntered past his son and stood behind the chair opposite Hermione, resting his hands on the high back.

Hermione refused to look away from the ticking hands of the clock.

The younger Malfoy took the seat in front of his father, a look of disdain plastered on his face. He clasped his hands together on the table and directed his stormy eyes to the wall above Hermione's chair.

A second man walked in and stood at the head of the table. He lifted a large parchment and read out, _"'Draco Lucius Malfoy and Hermione Jean Granger, you have been brought here today to fulfill the final aspect of Advancement Decree No. 3, establishing unity between witches and wizards of all blood statuses. On this day, June 2nd, 1998, at precisely 12:05 p.m., you will join in an espousal under the direct order of Lord Voldemort. In your union, you will obey his commands in full compliance. You will represent Lord Voldemort in the media, and at domestic and international functions, as He desires. You will not disclose the true nature of your union to anyone…and you will not copulate,'"_ the man stated with raised eyebrows.

Hermione's pulse quickened at the thought. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed. No, she would not show any emotions; would not give them the satisfaction. She fixed her eyes on the clock once more.

Pius Thicknesse, the Minister for Magic, continued, _"'_ _Defying any aspect of this contract by either or both parties will result in the execution of Rubeus Hagrid and Narcissa Malfoy.'"_ He flattened the document to the table, producing two quills and an inkpot with a flick of his wand. "Mr. Malfoy, your signature and today's date here," he said, sending one quill to Draco. The young Malfoy dipped his quill and stared at the page before him for a long moment.

" _Sign it_ ," his father hissed, and Draco scrawled his signature to the page.

Thicknesse shoved the document to Hermione. "Mudblood," he said, dropping the second quill in front of her.

Hermione looked straight at Draco for several beats. He stared past her, his eyes fixed on the wall just behind her. She drew her eyes down to the parchment in front of her. The words flowed together in a blur…

_establishing unity…_

_obey his commands…_

_execution of Ru…_

She couldn't process any of it; couldn't let herself feel. She just had to sign the bloody paper and do what was necessary to save Hagrid. She would have to plan a way out later. With a few swift movements, she penned _Hermione Jean Granger_ and the day's date onto the damning document. Her heart nearly skipped a beat as she watched the contract roll up and fly into a pocket of the Minister's robes.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. Your service starts now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: September 23, 2020
> 
> Check out the Pinterest board for this chapter: https://www.pinterest.com/QuellerKay/ch-1-signature-quelling-the-quill/


	2. Composure

The Minister for Magic swiftly left the room. 

With a sharp scrape of his chair, Draco stood and exited immediately behind Thicknesse. 

Hermione sat unmoving. The room somehow felt smaller than it had only moments ago, and she wished more than anything that she was alone in the confined space. 

But she wasn’t.

She rose from her seat and headed towards the door, stopped by an abrupt grab of her elbow.

“Miss Granger…or should I say…Malfoy,” Lucius sneered. “Don’t be fooled, girl. You may have the Malfoy name to the rest of the world, but in my house, you are still a Mudblood. Step a toe out of line and you won’t eat for a week. Do I make myself clear?”

It took everything in Hermione not to slap the horrendous man, and it took just as much in her not to outwardly laugh at the memory of doing so to his son years earlier. But, she knew it would only make things worse, so she gave the slightest of nods as her glare at him held firm. 

“Lovely.” Releasing her arm, Lucius strode past Hermione and led her down the corridor to the lift. Draco was leaning against the adjacent wall alone, his expression cool and stony. It was then that she noticed what he wore - a well-tailored pitch-black suit covered by equally dark dress robes. 

She couldn’t help the scoff that escaped her. There she was, on her wedding day, wearing stained jeans and a grimy jumper. While she had never been one to dream of herself as a bride, she had always liked the idea of celebrating her eventual love in a simple, yet elegant ceremony. This had certainly been _simple_ , but it was far from elegant. And, most importantly, she hadn’t married someone she loved. In fact, Hermione could easily say that she loathed her new husband. 

“Something funny?” Draco barked at her as they approached. 

She raised an eyebrow, “Actually, yes-”

“Enough,” Lucius cut in. He led the way into the lift, Hermione and Draco glowering on either side of him, each holding onto a strap that hung from the ceiling for stability. As they were carried through the winding route, being jostled around, Lucius whispered harshly to his son. Hermione couldn’t hear what the younger Malfoy was being accosted for, but it gave her immense pleasure to know that he was probably just as miserable as she was. 

Just moments before arriving at the Ministry Atrium, Lucius whipped out his wand and pointed it straight at Hermione, “Multicorfors.” She knew the spell well, though that didn’t stop her from flinching at the action. Looking down, she saw the effects. Her jeans had been transformed into a fitted white satin dress that nearly touched the ground. Trainers turned into comfortable kitten heels. The zip-up she previously donned became a matching high-low cape that crossed her chest and draped her figure eloquently. He flicked his wand again and her unwashed hair smoothed to perfection and knotted into an elegant updo. Her eyelids felt heavier with the weight of extended lashes and layers of makeup caked into place. She felt ridiculous, but she couldn’t deny that this was far more appropriate for a wedding ceremony, despite the circumstances. 

A voice in the lift announced their arrival to the Atrium and the golden gates drew open. Lucius was the first to step out, but before she even saw the hall, Hermione heard a projected voice and the rumbling of a crowd. She felt a firm hand grasp hers as Draco stepped in front of her before exiting the lift.

He leaned into her ear, a move the world beyond the gates would view as a brief whisper of love. “Do _not_ mess this up,” he hissed the words through gritted teeth and slipped something onto her left-hand ring finger. Drawing it up, he glared into her eyes and hovered his lips just above her hand for the briefest of moments. Thousands of voices rang through the space, drowning out the speaker, and flashes of lightbulbs burst in their direction. Hermione returned Draco’s look with equal fervor, but her stomach flipped when she saw the massive rock he’d given her. She really was not a frivolous person, nor did she care about such trivial things in life, but the sheer shock of its size and weight hit her. If anything, she was incensed that someone would - or even _could_ \- waste their money on something so…symbolic, especially considering the lack of symbol needed in this kind of arrangement.

Pulling away, Draco gripped her hand tighter than necessary and led her to the center of the chaos. Thicknesse stood before the masses, joined by Lucius. “Ah, and here is the happy couple!” 

Draco steered Hermione to his other side and hovered an arm just behind her lower back, careful not to touch her. 

As they approached the two men, Lucius held his grin, but turned away from the crowd to greet them. “Smile now. Both of you,” he said through clenched teeth.

Hermione forced a weak smile.

The Minister opened his arm to welcome them to the show. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I formally introduce you to the _newest_ Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy!” 

Cheers erupted throughout the hall. Reporters, business people, and a slew of the wizarding elite applauded and whistled from far beyond the statue and past the Floos. 

“As you all know by now, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger- well, it’s Malfoy now, isn’t it?” He gave a hearty laugh that was echoed by the crowd. “When they first came to me last week requesting a meeting with Lord Voldemort himself, I was just as confused as you might think!” He chuckled. “But, then, they revealed to me their secret romance and divulged their deep gratitude for our Lord and…well, you all know the story by now!” Another round of ear-splitting applause sounded, accompanied by obnoxious finger whistles. “Yes, yes, Lord Voldemort has paved the way…”

Hermione tuned him out. Surrounding the upper walls of the Atrium, she couldn’t miss the many giant moving faces of Voldemort on translucent banners almost five metres tall. She tried her best to maintain the meager smile while realizing the extent to which Voldemort was successfully reimaging himself. This was worse than she had thought. He was really doing it. He was winning people over. And now she was part of it, a puppet in the grand show that was Voldemort’s new world order. One promoting _unity_ and _love_ and _acceptance,_ yet it was all an erroneous performance that reminded Hermione far too well of Germany circa late-1930s. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted platinum curls that could only belong to one horrible woman: Rita Skeeter. The reporter - if you could call her that - was deeply engaged in a hushed conversation with someone Hermione recognized as Nott Senior. The two completely ignored Thicknesse. With a jolt, Hermione realized that it was no longer Thicknesse they were ignoring.

“…new wife and I are thankful for the opportunity to finally share our love with the world. We wish to extend our sincere gratitude to Lord Voldemort for our perfect private wedding ceremony here at the Ministry. On behalf of Mrs. Malfoy and myself, we hope that through our marriage, you shall find that this new world is one of unity, love, and acceptance.” Draco regurgitated his speech with such strained elation, Hermione struggled to hold a pleasant look on her face. Just then, he turned to her, connecting his hovering arm to her lower back, and pulled her close to him. Eyes filled with loathing, he leaned in and planted his lips on hers. The crowd went wild. Screams of excitement, camera clicks and flashes erupted throughout the hall, louder than ever before. Instinct made Hermione move her hands to his chest to push him away, but his grip tightened, and for a few seconds more, they held still. Anger rose within her, but she knew she had a part to play. As they drew away from each other, Hermione faced the crowd with a forced grin. 

“There it is!” Thicknesse boomed. The cheers continued as Lucius directed Draco and Hermione towards the Floos. 

“Time to go. Wave as you leave,” Lucius murmured as he led them towards the Floos. Several Death Eaters - now called Defense Enforcers, which Hermione had read in the _Prophet_ before her capture - cleared a path ahead of them.

Hermione maintained the charade, waving to the people and smiling for the cameras while following the Malfoy men to the nearest Floo. Draco held her hand as they stepped in together, though he dropped it the second his father recited, “Malfoy Manor.” The emerald flames engulfed them, and she finally left behind the sickening show.

**One Month Prior**

Hermione landed just outside Shell Cottage and fell to her knees, Ron’s name still ripping from her throat. She whipped her head to the side, fixing her gaze on the elf still holding her hand. “You have to go back! You have to get Ron out of there! Please, Kreacher, _please,”_ she pleaded, unable to control her weeping.

Kreacher nodded, pulling his hand away, “I will go back, if that’s what the Miss wants.”

Hermione wiped the tears from her face, _“Please_ , Kreacher, don’t come back without him.”

The elf nodded solemnly and disappeared with a loud crack.

Hermione shifted on the ground, moving in a daze. She pulled the beaded bag from her sock, where she had hidden it before the battle, and clenched her fingers around the fabric. She sat unmoving. All she could focus on was the roaring in her ears and the feel of her heart beating in her chest. The scene in front of her was a whirlwind. Blurs of people ran past; sobs filled the air. But to her, it felt as if it were happening somewhere else. 

She felt someone sit beside her and offer a glass of water. Hermione forced herself to tear her eyes away from the spot Kreacher had vanished to look at the person next to her. It was Neville. 

“Hermione…you haven’t moved in two hours. Can you drink something?” 

She shrugged the strap of the bag over her shoulder and slowly took the glass, bringing it to her lips. For a long moment, she sipped the water, and the chill of it brought her to the present conversation. 

“Good,” he said. “It’s Ron, isn’t it? Can you tell me what happened to him? Mrs. Weasley tried to talk to you earlier, but you…you just didn’t respond…” He reached a hand up and rubbed the back of his neck.

Nausea grew in the pit of Hermione’s stomach. She felt utterly sick. With a deep, bracing breath, she first asked, “Has anyone seen George?”

Neville nodded. “He made it here just after you. Ron is the only Weasley unaccounted for.”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry. Her thoughts were spinning. _Did George even see Ron? - Maybe he got blocked by a Death Eater. But Ron’s a good fighter - He could hold his own - If Kreacher hadn’t found him yet, it had to just mean that Ron found a place to hide until he could plan his escape - Yes, that’s got to be it…_ She gave her best efforts to breathe. _In. Out_ , she reminded herself. 

“He wouldn’t come with me. He tried to help George.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I sent Kreacher back for him. Oh, Neville, I told him not to come back without Ron…”

A gentle hand patted her back. “I’m sure they’re alright, Hermione. They’ll find their way here soon. I’m sure of it. I’ll let the Weasleys know. In the meantime, you should probably go inside.” With a final pat, he stood and walked away, reaching a hand out to Luna. They briefly exchanged words, then the blonde made her way over to Hermione.

“You look dreadful, Hermione. Let’s go wait inside with a cup of tea.” Luna helped lift Hermione to her feet. 

After hours of not moving, Hermione was thankful for the assistance. Luna kept hold of her hand as they quickly passed the many groups of people scattered about the grounds. Glimpses of a crying Cho Chang and devastated Parvati Patil crossed her path. Hermione was glad that Luna steered her by so swiftly; she couldn’t bring herself to really look at anyone just yet. Seeing Ginny or Mrs. Weasley would tear her apart. Hearing that Hagrid hadn’t been found would be too much. She knew she needed time to gather herself; to prepare her mind to process things more clearly, and if she spared a single thought for Harry just then- 

She shook her head firmly. _No,_ she thought to herself. _Not yet._

Luna led her through the cottage and to the kitchen where Fleur was waving her wand near the sink. Beautiful hints of lavender and citrus filled the room, which contrasted the atmosphere almost mockingly. Hermione set her glass of water on the counter as Luna poured her a steaming cup of earl grey from a pot in the corner. 

“‘Ermione,” Fleur greeted her. “‘Ave you eaten?”

Hermione shook her head.

“Today ‘az been so long and draining.” The witch grabbed a half loaf of bread and started slicing large pieces vigorously, shaking her head. “Zere are so many people, yet zere eez not enough room for everyone to sleep. Zere eez not enough time to multiply ze food. And how long will zis go on-”

“Thank you for the bread, Fleur. We’ll be going to the sitting room now,” Luna stated abruptly, grabbing a few pieces. “See you at the vigil.” She steered Hermione out the door with a kind wave back to the woman.

“A vigil?” Hermione asked.

The two entered the empty sitting room and sat beside each other on the couch. “People want to gather tonight to mourn everyone we lost today,” Luna said.

Hermione was silent for a beat. “To mourn. Yes. Of course.” The concept didn’t click for her. She wasn’t ready yet. Ron wasn’t back yet. _Ron_. 

Luna sat in silence, realizing Hermione was not keen on talking. They quietly sipped their tea and gnawed on their bread as the hours passed.

People trickled in throughout the rest of the day, joining them until the room was overflowing and daylight turned to dusk. Quiet tears were shed, hugs were shared, and bouts of murmurs filled the space. At one point, Neville switched with Luna to place a shaky hand on Hermione’s shoulder. She closed her eyes again, silent tears streaming down her cheeks, and pushed the feelings aside as best as she could.

“Should- should we maybe…say something? For the fallen?” a voice to her left spoke out. 

The room was quiet for a beat until someone else spoke up, “Say something? Like-”

“Like what? Sorry we failed? Everyone died for nothing?” a sharp, indignant voice cut in. 

“That’s quite enough.”

The final words had clearly come from McGonagall, causing the room to go back to near silence.

All around her, faint whimpers and freshly shed tears fell. There was so much pain, so much grief, so much fear, and so much _unknown_. This day was supposed to be the end of it all. It was supposed to mark a new beginning. A safer world. 

They should have been celebrating. With Harry. And Remus. And Tonks. And Hagrid. And everyone else they weren’t supposed to have lost. And at that moment, Hermione finally felt the delicate string holding up her heart snap with the realization that Ron had to be added to that list, too. Her heart sank as she allowed the world to swallow the pieces of her remaining optimism. 

A resounding crack rang through the room and beyond the entrance doors. Every head jolted towards the sound, which seemed to come from just outside the cottage. Hermione’s stomach flipped as she stood, wiping her eyes. She made for the door, but there were too many people doing the same, all rushing to see the commotion in the confined space. The volume in the room suddenly exploded as everyone burst into discussion and shuffled to see around each other. 

Hermione looked to Neville, who stood craning his neck beside her. “Can you see?” she asked. “Is it Ron?” 

Before he could answer, the pack of people near the door started to part, allowing Mrs. Weasley through. She shooed people left and right. “Move aside! Make room!” 

Hermione turned back to the couch and threw the pillows aside, preparing it for Ron as his father carried him over. The rest of the Weasley clan followed, towed by an unscathed Kreacher. 

“Come now, dear. That’s it.” Mrs. Weasley helped Ron lie down. She stroked his hair as tears fell down her cheeks, though they landed on a thankful smile. Madam Pomfrey shoved her way to the couch and handed Mrs. Weasley a vial of Wiggenweld Potion from her bag, which she promptly gave to her son.

“Herm…on…em.” Muffled mumbles left Ron’s mouth. “Herm-” he groaned.

“Ron, you shouldn’t-” Mrs. Weasley tried.

But Ron finally prevailed as the potion started to kick in, “Hermione.”

Hermione collapsed to her knees beside her only surviving best friend and grasped his hand. “Oh, Ron. I’m so sorry, I tried holding onto you, but-” she stopped when she noticed something wet soaking his arm. “Are you hurt? Where is this coming from?” She pulled at his sleeve, trying to rip it open from a cut in the middle. Tears flowed from her eyes again as panic grew within her.

“Hermione,” Ron said in a raspy voice, “look at me.” She looked up, barely breathing. “Not…mine.” He reached towards her with strained energy and brushed his hand across her cheek. “It’s…it’s not mine. I’m okay.” Hermione took a gulp of air and lowered her head to his chest. “I’m okay.” He repeated, resting a hand on her head. “It’s okay.”

And for that one short moment, it was okay. 

Ron ran his hand down her shoulder and sat up, prompting her to follow suit. “I went to help George, but then he was gone and I was surrounded! There were no elves around, so I just threw spells left and right and tried to make it out. Almost made it there, too, but one of the gits hit me with a stunner and I fell. I couldn’t really hear what was going on, but all of a sudden I was being dragged through the air out of the castle.” 

The whole room listened to his story intently, his mother holding her chest, Hermione grasping his hand. 

“Then, boom. Blackout. I don’t know what happened then. When I opened my eyes, I was staring at the sky through the trees. Must’ve been in the forest.” He held a grimace and looked down at his feet. “Got up and ran around looking for any one of you. That’s when Kreacher found me.” 

“Wait, you were alone?” Fred asked. “The Death Eaters just left you there?” 

Ron shrugged. “I guess so?” 

“Did-” Dean pushed his way into view. “Did you see anyone else?”

Ron shook his head. “No. There was no one else alive from what I saw.”

Silence persisted again. Now that Ron was there, alive and nearly well, Hermione let herself think of the one person whose presence she was missing the most. Harry. She couldn’t shove him aside in her mind any longer. She took a deep breath and stood up. All eyes turned towards her. 

“We have a lot of planning to do and a lot of fighting ahead. But right now, we should all get some rest while we can.” Still holding Ron’s hand, she helped lift him to his feet. His mother gave him a final hug, then he walked with Hermione past Dean and the people that had parted for him. 

Behind her, she heard the mourners disperse, finding places along the property to set up camp using tents, pillows, and blankets that Bill and Fleur had multiplied. Hermione led Ron away from the cottage as the sun set over the water. They sat down near the sand dunes, next to where Dobby was buried.

“You can let it out now. It’s just me. We can cry for Harry,” Ron said, wrapping an arm across her shoulders.

Hermione let out the sob she’d been holding in since she had heard the snake-like voice slither through her ears and reveal that Harry had been killed. Reaching into her beaded bag, she pulled out Harry’s spare glasses and gently propped them against the side of Dobby’s headstone. The despair of losing Harry ripped through her and she finally wept openly, her chest heaving. Ron held her while the sobs escaped him, too, well past the set of the sun. 

They stayed like that for hours until the tears dried on their cheeks and they laid down, settling into each other’s arms in the sand. An hour passed until Hermione closed her eyes and gave into the darkness.

\--

“Let her rest. We can talk to her first thing in the morning. She’s had a very traumatic experience.”

“We’ve _all_ had a traumatic experience, Minerva. We need to know what she knows and we need to know _now_. You-Know-Who maintains control of the Ministry and the paper, and has taken over Hogwarts. He will be planning further attacks. He will-”

“Kingsley, _please_ , everyone needs time to breathe and process what has happened. Harry Potter has _died_. People have lost friends and loved ones.”

The harsh whispers carried from down the bank, bringing Hermione out of her sleep. As her lashes fluttered open, she saw the worn-down witch and wizard in their heated conversation and lifted her head. Untangling her arms from Ron’s, she sat up and left her friend in his comfortable state.

“I’m awake. I can talk now,” she said as she approached the two. The sky was a blazing orange and purple, revealing that it must have been the crack of dawn.

McGonagall looked at her with solemn eyes. “Hermione, you can rest for now. It’s been a long-”

“No, I’m ready now. Thank you, Professor, but I agree with Kingsley,” she said determinedly. “We need to start strategizing. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

McGonagall and Kingsley shared a brief glance. “Well,” the witch said. “Alright, then.”

Hermione nodded and followed the two into the cottage, passing quiet tents along the way. They made for a small bedroom on the top floor and shut the door behind them. 

Kingsley cast a Muffliato and turned to the witches, directing his attention to Hermione. “Okay. So, tell me about the snake.”

Hermione detailed her journey with Ron and Harry over the past year, and relayed what she knew about Voldemort’s Horcruxes.

“And you’re telling me _five_ have already been destroyed?”

McGonagall held a hand over her mouth and listened with bated breath.

“Yes. Nagini is the final one,” Hermione said. “Voldemort wasn’t going to put his last bit of soul in danger by going into another battle after he had done what he had set out to do. The prophecy stated that either had to die at the hand of the other. He won; he killed Harry and probably Disapparated with the snake right after sending his followers back in.”

Kingsley nodded his head slowly, clearly in deep thought. “Alright. Well, I guess we’ll just have to kill the snake.” 

“Once that’s done, we will be able to defeat Voldemort,” Hermione said, “but we will need a team and a strong strategy this time.”

McGonagall spoke up for the first time in a while. “We should gather the rest of the camp and invite everyone to officially join the Order. Anyone who wishes can sign up. We will host our first meeting tonight before dinner. I think you should speak first, Hermione; tell the new Order everything you have told us. They will need to know what you, Ron, and Harry were up to prior to the battle. I do wish you three would have told us what was going on so we could have been better help, but that’s behind us now. If we are going to form a strong team moving forward, we need everyone to be on the same page.”

“I agree. We should also start up Potterwatch again,” Kingsley said. “We should get that going as soon as possible to make contact with the other safe houses and families out there.”

Hermione responded, “I’m sure Dean and Lee would love to do their part by bringing it back on the air.” 

Kingsley nodded. “I will talk to Mr. Thomas and Mr. Jordan privately before the meeting tonight. Let’s gather everyone now to get the sign-up going.” He stalked out the room, followed by McGonagall.

Hermione stopped at the window on her way outside, watching as daylight broke over the horizon and people started to wake.

A short time later, Kingsley had wrangled everyone outside the cottage and informed them about the opportunity to officially join the Order. A small line started to form after his speech, leading to a table on the north side of the cottage. One by one, people signed their names on the parchment Mcgonagall had conjured and placed on the table. 

Hermione waited until the line died down to go over for her turn to sign. She stood there for a moment staring at the parchment and the list of names scribbled across it. It reminded her of better times in the Room of Requirement only two years prior. She wished more than anything she was back there, learning from Harry and practicing with the rest of Dumbledore’s Army. She took a deep breath, then reached for the quill and scrawled _Hermione Jean Granger_. 

\--

At six o’clock that evening, the first official meeting of the new Order of the Phoenix was called to order by Kingsley. 

Hermione made her way to the front of the room, clutching a notebook and Muggle pen - the clicky part of which was severely chewed. She stood there for a few moments, surveying the room and finding that although their numbers were depleted, the quality of witches and wizards willing to fight was substantial. 

After a silent pause, she divulged the information that had been kept so contained between herself, Ron, and Harry for the past year of their lives. She told the new Order everything she knew about Horcruxes and how to destroy them. She told them about the ones they had already destroyed; about what they went through in the Forest of Dean, at Gringotts, at Malfoy Manor; about the true purpose behind it all. 

Ron was listening and even chimed in to add a few details here and there. Questions were shouted from every which way, and Bill shared the news that Voldemort had killed hundreds of Gringotts goblins. Hermione noticed mostly familiar faces, but there were a few strangers. She felt the heavy, deepened bond the trio had shared wither away with the sharing of their secrets. Maybe it was trivial. Maybe she put too much weight into these experiences. But the despair she had worked so hard to shove down attempted to escape as she finished explaining the events of the Room of Requirement. She detailed how they escaped the Fiendfyre and destroyed Ravenclaw’s diadem; some of her final moments with Harry. 

“Thank you, Hermione.” Kingsley took over addressing the people. “This war is not over.”

Hermione crossed the room to stand behind the Weasleys.

“Thank you all for your dedication to this continued fight. You-Know-Who is out there right now with his followers. We don’t know where he is. We don’t know what he is doing or what he is planning. We are currently in the dark.” There was a collective intake of breath. “But starting tonight, we strategize. We will get word out to our friends, our families, and our allies that we are still here! That we are still fighting! That we know his biggest weakness and that we will fight against all dark forces to restore peace and order once and for all!”

The room erupted into applause and cheers of agreements.

As Kingsley progressed through his speech, he called for volunteers, determining roles left and right. Hermione scribbled notes and raised her hand when he asked for frontline fighters. Looking around, she noticed the number of hands that had steadfastly sprung into the air. It was encouraging and dreadful at the same time how many of her friends were so willing to volunteer. She couldn’t fathom watching any more of them die in a battle that should have already ended. How would they _ever_ get to the snake without casualties? Voldemort was sure to keep his final Horcrux better protected now more than ever.

When the meeting came to a close, people dispersed into pairs and little clusters as they exited the room. Hermione sat on the newly vacated couch and continued her writing, drawing up potential plans, though she knew they were likely futile without any information about the current state of things beyond the cottage. 

Ron settled next to her and shuffled in place. “Hermione, I wanted to talk to you about something. I just…well, you know you’re my best friend, right?” He paused.

Hermione closed her notebook and looked up at him, her brows slightly furrowed. “Ron, of course. We will get through this together-”

“I know that, Hermione. I am so thankful you are okay. But that’s not exactly-” he fixed his eyes on his hands. “I just…I can’t…our moment yesterday-” he buried his face in his hands. “Hermione, I just need-”

Realizing what he was doing, Hermione’s face grew hot with embarrassment. _God, please stop_ , she thought. “Ron, I agree. I mean- I know what you’re going to say. We…we need to focus. We can’t have any distractions. I…think we just got caught up in the moment. But, you are my best friend and I wouldn’t want to change that. Especially right now.”

Ron pulled his hands from his face and Hermione caught the look of relief for a brief moment as he turned back to her and offered an awkward smile. She realized the relief was there for her, too. Moving forward with that would just be far too much to handle. They both really needed to hold onto their friendship after everything that had happened; everything that was to come. 

“Good. Yes, great. That’s…that’s great,” he said.

“Thanks, Ron,” she replied, smiling back at him. “I’ll see you in a bit at the food tent.”

With a bit of a hesitant pat on her shoulder, Ron stood. “Great! I guess…I’ll leave you to it, then. See you soon.”

 _Oof_. Hermione looked down into her lap and let out a heavy sigh. She closed her eyes, wishing the day were already over. In no mood to talk to others, she quickly grabbed some food to-go and set up a tent of her own. 

Once she was settled in her magically enlarged tent, she laid out her notebook and shepherd's pie on the table, and took a seat. For hours, she sat there, picking at her cooling food and focusing on her plans. She didn’t want to miss anything if she could help it. Thanks to Luna’s offer, the _Quibbler_ would be started up again, though they needed a plan to distribute it. Hermione wrote several outlines for various ways to do so efficiently and effectively. She prepared multiple procedural steps for mission safety and even mapped out several flying routes from Shell Cottage. She was just beginning to diagram the intricacies of the Hogwarts grounds - that she could recall from her many readings of _Hogwarts: A History_ \- when her head finally lowered to the tabletop and she drifted off to sleep.

**Three Weeks Later**

“Hermione!”

She jolted upright, sucking in the light drool running from the corner of her mouth, and knocking over the inch of coffee left in her mug. _“Shit_ , _”_ she muttered under her breath, then called out in reply, “Yes, I’m up! Just a moment!” She scrambled out of her chair and waved her wand to clean up the mess. As she pulled on her cardigan, she opened the entrance flap of the tent to find a deep indigo sky and Dean waiting for her with a stack of copied _Daily Prophets_. 

“Multiplied them as fast as I could. Oliver and the twins just got back ten minutes ago. They said it was crazy…almost lost Fred in a fight with that Stan guy.” Dean handed her a bundle of papers at the top of the pile. “Gotta get the rest of these out to the others. See you at the morning meeting!”

“Thanks.” Hermione turned back to her little space and ripped open the top paper, almost tearing the pages. The front page held bold black letters across the top.

**DARK WITCHES & WIZARDS SUSPECTED NEAR HEADINGTON**

Hermione gasped and dropped the paper, a hand instinctively flying up to her mouth. _Teddy_. Her stomach seemed to sink and meet with a sickening panic. 

Without a call of her name or permission to enter, Neville came bursting into her tent. She whipped her head to him, eyes wide, and made to speak, though no sound could find its way out.

“Cottage, now!” he yelled, turning, smacking the tent flap aside, and disappearing in mere moments.

The interior of the tent blurred as she rushed around in a haze. Hermione barely felt her feet move as she grasped for her run gear. She didn’t have the time or capacity to kick herself for the scattered items, but the frustration was there, nonetheless. It wasn’t like her not to have everything packed and prepared for an emergency, but every run she had gone on had been so tame. She had fallen asleep just before dinner that evening, the thought briefly crossing her mind to finish her run prep just before her eyes drifted close. Finding her head, she pulled out her wand and Accio’d the final items, shoving them into her beaded bag. With a flick of her wrist, the laces of her trainers lifted and spun around several times, settling into a double-knot. 

Hermione bolted after Neville. When she exited her tent, people stirred all around, several other runners seemingly in a similar state as her. The Order leaders were in a heated discussion as they hovered over the planning table in the cottage. They were arguing about potential flying routes and pointing at various spots on a map. Surrounding the arguers were most of the Weasley children, Neville, Cho, and Justin Finch-Fletchley. A few others started to pour in right after Hermione.

“Look, if we send them over Bideford, they can get to the safe house in Cardiff and-”

 _“Cardiff?_ You want them to fly over the channel with weather like this?”

“Minerva, we don’t have any other realistic options-”

“They can make it to Salisbury faster and Apparate to this spot outside the Radcliffe hospital, Kingsley. It’s a short distance from there to the house-”

“They’ll set off the anti-Apparition wards,” Arthur chimed in.

“That may be, but if all goes as planned, they should get to Andromeda and the baby in time to get them out,” McGonagall stated firmly.

“Well, ultimately it is your call-” Kingsley tried, but McGonagall cut back in.

“Yes, it is. We do _not_ have time for this.” Scanning the room, she picked out several people and addressed them. “Bill, you’re our lead runner tonight. Take Longbottom, Bell, MacMillan, Chang, and…Wood. We need-”

“Oliver Wood just returned from a run. Let me go in his place,” Hermione called out. 

“I can go, Ma’am. I’m ready.” Oliver stepped forward, but Hermione held her ground.

“I _need_ to help get Teddy, Minerva. Please…Harry was supposed to be his Godfath-”

“Yes, alright. Get some rest, Wood.” McGonagall gestured to the table and dismissed the remaining occupants. “Gather in. As I have said, the weather out there is not looking good. It may help stifle visibility, but you must remember to keep a visual on your team as best as you can. Follow this path here.” McGonagall traced her index finger over the line she had added to the map. “Over St. Austell first, through the national park - remember to avoid Exeter - drift north towards Crediton and head around to Mudford near Yeovil. You know where the abandoned safe house is here, outside of Salisbury. Apparate from there to the landing spot on Osler Road just south of the hospital. Get to the Tonks house here, just a few blocks away, as fast as you can and get. Them. Out. Understood?”

Everyone nodded and voiced their agreements. 

“Good. Get going,” McGonagall concluded.

The team followed Bill to the broom corner where they collected their gear as fast as they could and headed outside to mount. As much as Hermione found flying uncomfortable, she wanted to be the best and most efficient flier she could. Over the past few weeks, she had practiced extensively in her free time whenever Ron, Oliver, or either of the twins were available to help.

“Alright, team! Cho, you’re by me; Ernie and Katie, over there; Neville, to the left; and Hermione, bring up the rear! On my call!”

Hermione settled in position and closed her eyes to center herself.

“Go!” Bill shouted.

Her eyes flew open as she kicked off with steadfast determination. As she soared into the night sky, the faint lights and the few cottage dwellers who stood below grew smaller until they were little blurs. The wind rippled through her jumper and jeans, which were still dirty from the wandless combat session she’d completed only hours before. She focused her attention on the plan, running through their route over and over in her mind as they started for St. Austell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter coming October 7th!
> 
> Check out the Pinterest board for this chapter: https://www.pinterest.com/QuellerKay/ch-2-composure-quelling-the-quill/


	3. Unseen

**Present Day**

The three Malfoys emerged from the Floo into the foyer of the Manor. Hermione’s stomach turned at the familiar sight of the dark stone floor. She followed the Malfoys through the doors and into the hall where a grand staircase came into view, Draco just a step ahead of her. Her heart raced when she recognized the large double doors to her left. She shut her eyes, willing away the painful memories from months ago. Her eyes flew open at the sound of those dreaded doors swinging open.

“My Lord,” Lucius bowed to his master, “it is done.”

Voldemort strode past Lucius to stop in front of Draco and Hermione, examining them as if through a storefront window. “Excellent,” he hissed with a taunting smile. “My happy couple.” After a moment, he turned back to Lucius. “If they are to stray from my commands in any way, they must know that I will not,” he paused, shifting his eyes between the two, “show mercy.”

Lucius did not waver in his response. “Indeed.”

A chill ran up Hermione’s spine.

With a swish of his robes, Voldemort sauntered back into the drawing room. “Now, where was I?” His voice faded as the doors shut behind him.

Lucius rounded on Draco and Hermione, looked them up and down, huffed, then stalked away past the staircase and out of sight.

Hermione glanced uncertainly at Draco, who had heaved a big sigh and was pinching the bridge of his nose with his left hand.

“Come,” he barked at her.

She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips, staying right where she was. He made for the right side of the staircase but stopped once he realized his were the only footsteps echoing in the hall.

He whipped around to face her. _“Granger,”_ he said through gritted teeth. 

“It’s _Malfoy_ now, actually. Don’t you remember?” she said looking at him, feigning innocence. 

Draco sneered and walked back to plant himself just inches from her face. He glared down at her. “I don’t care _who_ you are. Follow me or else I’ll open those doors again and let _him_ deal with you.” 

_So this is how it’s going to be._ Hermione scoffed. “Oh, and you wouldn’t be at all concerned for the well-being of your dear mother?”

 _“Don’t_ talk about my mother.”

“Then _don’t_ order me around.” 

They spat the words at each other in hushed tones until Draco grabbed her wrist and pulled her along to the base of the staircase.

 _“Don’t touch me!”_ she shrieked as quietly as she could. Ultimately, she knew the danger of Voldemort was far worse than Draco Malfoy. Yet, at the same time, she couldn’t let herself be barked at and handled by a bloody blighter like him. 

_“Fine.”_ He let go of her wrist and plastered on a condescending smirk. “Will you _kindly_ follow me, Mrs. Malfoy?”

Hermione huffed and returned the nasty look. _“Gladly.”_

Draco turned and quickly made his way up the stairs. 

Hermione struggled to keep up as she tried to take in her surroundings. The decor was obnoxious. A magnificent carpet covered most of the stairs, and a large ornate chandelier similar to the one that had smashed onto her in the nearby room hung above their heads. She tried to memorize the layout. At the top of the staircase were two double doors that were open, revealing countless elves rushing around setting up what appeared to be an opulent party. To the right and left of the doors, lining the walls, were pale-faced portraits whispering to each other as they passed by. Hermione didn’t get more than a moment to look at them when Draco ushered her around a corner and down a hallway. They passed many doors until they reached two at the end: one straight ahead and one just next to it on the right.

“Here,” Draco stated as he led her to the door on the right and flicked it open with a wave of his wand. He stalked off, back down the way they came. 

Hermione surveyed the space. She had to roll her eyes at the green accents. To her right was a four-poster bed tucked in the corner of the room. Next to it was a small nightstand and a door leading to a private bathroom. A wingback armchair was placed in front of a modest window across from her. Walking over, she looked out to the grounds.

There were countless perfectly cut hedges all around and a large fountain. She was sad to see the lack of flowers, but wasn’t surprised by their absence. Hiding the left side of the view was a balcony hugging the curve of the outer wall. Turning back around, she approached a door next to the entrance of the room and tried the handle just as Draco returned.

“Can’t restrain yourself, can you?” he said with a bored expression. “It’s a closet. My father will let you in tonight to prepare for the reception.”

“The reception?” Hermione echoed.

“Yes. To celebrate our…union. Obviously.” His tone was both mocking and resentful. 

They stood there glowering at each other for a few moments until Hermione broke the silence. “Is that all?”

“No,” Draco replied, and he stepped past her, pulling a stack of papers from within his robes and tossing them onto the bed. “You are expected to read through these _Daily Prophets_ so you will know what the public knows about…us.”

“Hm. Right,” she replied. 

There was another moment’s pause. Draco crossed back to the door and strode out, slamming it shut behind him with a click of finality. 

Hermione let out a breath. She closed her eyes and let everything sink in for a minute. Breathe. She found that she was telling this to herself far too often, but the circumstances certainly called for it. 

She opened her eyes and surveyed the room once more. It wasn’t so bad, really. At least she had her own space to think. She moved towards the bed and stood there examining the papers Draco had left for her. The top page was perfectly crisp; newly printed. Large, bold letters stood out across the front page.

**THE NEW MALFOYS: DRACO & HERMIONE FINALLY WED**

> The moment has finally arrived! The famous former-traitor-turned-ally, Hermione Granger, has obtained a new surname after a whirlwind week with her formerly-secret lover, Draco Malfoy, _writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent._ As this reporter has previously shared, the pair had kept their affair hidden for years out of fear for what would happen if a Muggle-born and pure-blood of their statuses were to wed. But, as you know by now, under our Lord’s leadership, the couple openly declared their love and desire to marry, thanks to the recent changes under Lord Voldemort’s administration. Our Lord’s unifying Advancement Decree No. 3 has fulfilled its goal of paving the way for unity, love, and acceptance to prevail in the wizarding world. As an eye witness, this reporter can officially share that the two partook in a beautiful, lavish wedding ceremony earlier today arranged and officiated by Lord Voldemort, himself!

Hermione was incensed, but she pressed on.

> The newlyweds are set to enjoy an elegant reception this evening with their close friends and family, though through special invitation from our great Lord, this reporter will be in attendance. Through personal request, the couple wishes to share their public gratitude to Lord Voldemort and look forward to their upcoming honeymoon in France. 

A honeymoon? In _France?_ She was absolutely fuming. Flipping through the pages, she looked for any information she could find on the Order, but there was nothing. Not a single mention of any of their efforts; of any real information from the day she was captured. In fact, most of the articles throughout the whole wretched paper were about the _amazing successes_ of Voldemort’s administration. She couldn’t find anything of real substance, so she tossed the paper aside and picked up the next one in the pile. In the center of the front page, below the large, bold letters, was a picture of her being led to a Ministry Floo by a guard. Its caption read, “Hermione Granger is led to her soon-to-be new home, Malfoy Manor.” She scoffed. 

**HERMIONE GRANGER SET TO BECOME A MALFOY**

> In an exciting update, this reporter has discovered that your favorite star-crossed lovers, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are to marry tomorrow! It was reported just days ago that Miss Granger, the former-traitor-turned-ally, and Mr. Malfoy have been in a torrid affair for several years, despite their differences in blood status and alliances. As you know by now, Miss Granger is in full support of Lord Voldemort and has expressed to this reporter her anticipation for upcoming events where she will represent his administration alongside her beau. It looks as though she will be doing so as the newest Mrs. Malfoy on the arm of her new _husband_. A source close to the couple tells me that Lord Voldemort has arranged a special ceremony at the Ministry of Magic for them. 

Hermione furiously threw the second paper aside, the pages floating to the floor rather anticlimactically. She flipped past several more _Prophets_ to read the earliest one at the bottom of the stack. 

**LOVE BEYOND BLOOD**

**THE SECRET AFFAIR OF DRACO MALFOY & HERMIONE GRANGER**

> In an astonishing discovery, this reporter brings to you the biggest news to hit the wizarding world since the Resolution of Hogwarts last month. Hermione Granger - former friend and one-time lover of the now-deceased _Undesirable No. 1,_ Harry Potter - has emerged from hiding and pledged her support to Lord Voldemort. The most shocking news is the reason behind her sudden change of heart. A source close to those involved has revealed that Miss Granger’s flip was a long time coming due to her romance with a certain former Slytherin, Draco Malfoy. 
> 
> It is said that the young couple has been in love for years, but had kept their affair a secret out of fear of what the consequences would be if a Muggle-born and pure-blood on such opposite sides were to be together. A source says that throughout the years Albus Dumbledore was Headmaster of Hogwarts, Slytherins and the other Houses - especially Gryffindors - were pre-destined rivals, unlike any other time in Hogwarts history. This rivalry and perpetuated inter-House hatred made things especially challenging for the couple in the beginning. Our dear Malfoy heir had spent many nights meeting with his soulmate in secret leading up to the Resolution, attempting to convince her to abandon the dark side and join our Lord’s unwavering efforts for good. This was said to be a constant strain on their relationship, though it seems that it won’t be an issue any further! _For more on this story, Special Correspondent, Rita Skeeter, continues on page three_.

Hermione flipped to page three and read on, noticing that the story spanned the entire page and continued onto the next one.

> It was only after the fall of the disgraced Harry Potter that Miss Granger was free of his misguided influence and could see the opportunities that lay ahead. The recent Advancement Decree implemented by Lord Voldemort was referenced by the source as the final step that emboldened both Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy to officially tell our Lord about their romance and publicly come forward with the news. 

_No._ Hermione couldn’t stand the lies any longer. She scrunched the paper in her hands as tears flowed down her cheeks. _How_ dare _they._ She crumbled to the floor and buried her face in her arms, allowing herself to openly weep for the second time that month. Except this time, she was completely alone. 

\--

Hermione had hoped that the time of solitude in her room would help her mentally and emotionally prepare for the night ahead. But, with less than an hour left until the start of the reception, she found herself staring into the bathroom mirror at a woman she barely recognized. 

A month had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts. Since Harry had died. She had lost so much sleep, so much confidence, yet persevered as much as she possibly could, only to get captured on a routine paper collection and distribution run just one day after risking her life to save Teddy and his grandmother.

So, to be there, staring at this woman in the mirror, and seeing a reflection that failed to reflect any of that was unnerving. She looked beautiful. She looked refreshed and whole. She looked every bit of perfect she couldn’t possibly feel. 

She closed her eyes and attempted to center herself, but as the moments passed, she remained unsuccessful. Her despair dissipated, but her anger grew, and before she knew it, she was scrubbing at her face. She lathered the soap in her hands under the rushing water and furiously rubbed at her eyes, cheeks, nose, chin…but nothing happened. The makeup stayed perfectly in place. She grabbed at the knot in her hair and tugged at it from all sides, her slippery hands leaving no trace of soapy water on her flawless locks. She had already tried ripping off the gaudy ring hours before as she knelt on the floor, but the sticking charms had held firm. 

_“Ugh,”_ Hermione grunted, turning away from the mirror and wiping her hands on the pajamas she had found in a dresser.

After her brief crying spell earlier in the day, she had kicked her shoes off and quite literally ripped her pure white gown at the seams. She had yanked at the two portions of material until she was left in her underwear, swearing and kicking at a pool of threads and crumpled fabric for several long minutes. Searching the dresser, she had found some casual and nighttime clothes, and curled up on the wingback chair with her stack of crumpled _Prophets_ she had flattened back out. She had read them front-to-back in search of any information that could be useful to her moving forward, but all she found were the lies.

Hermione stepped out of the bathroom and walked to the armchair, curling herself up again and staring out to the grounds. The sun was beginning to set on the hedges, and the fountain’s water sparkled in the evening glow. The view was a stark contrast to the beauty of Shell Cottage. She glanced down at the word engraved in her arm and huffed. _Mudblood._ How did they expect her to play the role of the “perfect pure-blood wife” with this glaring reminder on her arm? 

A movement passed in her peripheral, prompting Hermione to snap her head up. Draco had stepped out onto his balcony. She watched as he started to pace, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair several times. _Stupid hair,_ she thought as it caught the light. He strode in the direction opposite her, walking around the corner, almost out of sight. She inclined her head and saw that he had faced the house and pressed his forearms against it, fists clenched. He leaned, burying his face against his arms, and she could faintly see his body shake. Hermione realized it was far too intimate a moment for her to watch, but couldn’t look away. He looked so sad; so defeated. And though all her instincts screamed at her that he was a vile person, that he was _Draco Malfoy,_ and that he didn’t deserve her sympathy, it was still there for him. 

His head suddenly jerked up towards the balcony doors. Before she could blink, he straightened and set his mask into place. He swiftly crossed to the glass doors where his father came into view. Hermione dove to the floor without a second thought, _Prophets_ flying all over the hardwood. She wasn’t sure why she did it, but nonetheless, she was sprawled out on the floor and her heart was racing. She lowered her forehead to the ground with a huff and stayed in place for a few moments. 

Before she had a chance to gather herself, Hermione heard a click from her bedroom door and scrambled to her feet. Lucius stared at her from the doorway with a raised eyebrow. She couldn’t help the flush that rose up her cheeks. 

“Well then, let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we?” he said with a tone laced with snark. “How long have you and Draco been together?”

Hermione stood speechless for a moment, her jaw slacking, “I- we aren’t-?”

Even from across the room, Hermione could see the flare of his nostrils. _“Two years._ The answer is two years. Did you not read the papers as you were told?”

“I-”

“Let’s try again, shall we? Who initiated the relationship?” he pressed on.

“D-Draco did. We had Ancient Runes together in sixth year.”

“And where was your first date?”

“Hogsmeade, though we separately got takeaway and met at the Shrieking Shack-”

“What is Draco’s favorite color?” his right brow lifted. 

“Um…green?”

Lucius bore his eyes into hers. “Well done, _Mrs. Malfoy.”_ He strode closer until he stood just a foot in front of her. “I expect you to remember yourself should any question regarding the history and nature of your _relationship_ with my son be presented to you. If the two of you need to sit down and talk through your favourite little hobbies and deepest desires, _be my guest._ But you will _not_ jeopardize the safety of my wife because you question the fact that Draco’s favorite color is _green.”_ He spat the words with a vicious sneer and turned back towards the entrance of her room.

Hermione stood there in silence, biting her tongue. She wanted to compliment him on what a fine job _he_ had done at keeping his wife safe, but thought better of it. Instead, she glared at him as he moved away and waited for whatever else he threw at her.

Lucius flicked his wand at the locked door across from the end of her bed. _“Come here,”_ he instructed.

Hermione internally seethed at the order, but she would have to get used to the treatment. 

She followed Lucius into the little room behind the door. Inside, she found that the space was not so little, after all. Directly across from her were closed double doors. Lining each of the walls, were ceiling-high shelves of various widths and lengths. The space opened up; a mini black chandelier placed above a deep emerald ottoman centered on a thin white rug. The shelves on the left were filled with women’s clothing. The ones on the right held suits and dress robes in variations of slate, charcoal, and onyx hung in neat rows organized by shade. The shelves were each lit individually, showcasing the precisely organized articles.

Lucius gestured for her as he levitated a pair of sparkling black heels and set them on the ground below a gown hanging in front of the countless others on what appeared to be her side of the closet. 

“You will wear this tonight,” Lucius said. “Twenty minutes, then I will meet you outside the ballroom down the hall.” His eyes flicked down to Hermione’s forearm. 

She instinctively covered her scar with her other hand. 

“Show me,” he stated. She reluctantly turned the scar towards him and when he saw it, he clicked his tongue. “My sister-in-law got a little overzealous, I see. This won’t do. Abscondo.” 

The concealment charm covered her scar, leaving her arm as smooth and unmarred as it should have been. She ran her fingers over the clear skin. 

As he turned on his heel to leave, he tossed a paper on the ottoman, then glided out of her room. 

For a brief moment, Hermione allowed herself to indulge the idea of checking the other doors and routing an escape, but the thought was immediately squashed as she thought of Hagrid. She would _not_ leave without a plan to save him, too. And, as much as she didn’t like Narcissa Malfoy or agree with her life choices, she couldn’t live with herself knowing that she had contributed to the woman’s death in any way. 

She shook her head and picked up the paper Lucius had left. It was the evening edition of the _Prophet._ Below the large, bold title was a scene she couldn’t believe had already made it to print: Draco turning to face her, an arm wrapped delicately around her waist, his palm settled on her lower back. She watched herself look into his eyes but failed to see the contempt she _knew_ was there in the moment. As Draco leaned into her and connected their lips, she almost felt the kiss all over again. 

Hermione had to close her eyes once more. _Ugh._ Returning to the photo, she caught the kiss again as it cycled through the act. Photo Hermione flew her hands up to rest on Draco’s chest, making the whole moment seem so ungodly intimate. In the same fashion as she had done several times that day, Hermione crumpled the paper and threw it aside in a huff. 

She examined the gown in front of her. _Of course,_ she thought. The dress was a perfect match to Slytherin green. From the bodice down the length of the gown were dark green lace appliques with black beading embroidered on a chiffon top layer, which was overlaying a satin emerald material. Above the sweetheart neckline was a green illusion sheer that lay in a high scoop neck and down the sleeves, which were also covered in lace appliques. In the middle of the fitted dress, at the top of the hips, was a matching green satin overskirt with a small train that was open in the middle to reveal the dress that lay underneath. She turned the gown around, eyes widening slightly as she saw the line of tiny buttons that would run all the way down her back.

Hermione undressed and slipped into the eveningwear. As she shifted herself into the gown and slid her hands down the sleeves, she felt the fabric tighten around her. It synched at her waist and around her chest and arms to settle into a perfect fit. It was one thing to adjust the sizing of a person’s clothing, but it was something completely different for clothes to size themselves to a person. Based on the nature of this kind of odd magic, she gathered it must have been old. Perhaps the age of the dress and the magic woven in had faded with time, as the buttons along the back were left undone. She huffed and cursed under her breath. Wrapping her arms behind her lower back and feeling for the buttons, she wriggled to reach for them. After struggling in vain to fasten a single button, she gave up, resolving to have Lucius to do them up with his wand. 

She was running out of time, so she moved on to her shoes. They were easy to strap together, and her hair and makeup were already done, so Hermione spent her last few minutes clearing her mind. The minutes ticked by too quickly, and after what felt like a blink of an eye, her time was up. 

Over the past week, she had missed her wand immensely, but the feeling had taken a backburner to some of the more pressing issues. Learning that Hagrid was alive and being held prisoner after she was captured was a shocking blow of relief and fear that added to her inner turmoil. She had been snatched by two Death Eaters she didn’t recognize, brought to a tiny, dark room at the Ministry, and kept there until one of Thicknesse’s cronies strolled in to deliver her fate. Her wand and beaded bag had been taken away, right along with her autonomy.

She left the closet, dropping her pajamas on the bed. As she was about to leave, it hit her. She hadn’t even thought about who she would see at this reception, and her mind went straight to Bellatrix Lestrange. A bout of panic grew within her. She could see the woman who had tortured her. She could see the Carrows. She could see Lupin’s murderer, Dolohov. She could see Greyback, who had attacked Lavender and countless others; who had turned children into werewolves for years. She would likely see any number of the Death Eaters who had tortured her peers and killed her friends. Not to mention that she would spend the whole evening with Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort. She closed her eyes and summoned all the strength within her to make it through the night calmly. Hermione thought about Harry and what he would have done. She knew he would have done everything in his power to keep Hagrid alive. So, if Hermione’s role in this stage of the war was to act her way through it, she would damn well give it her all. 

She straightened up and opened her eyes, readying herself for whatever lie ahead. One step out the door of her room had her colliding with a tall figure in billowing black robes.

“Sorry!” she blurted out instinctually. Meeting her eyes were a set of steel ones she knew right away. She expected a scoff or snarky retort, but she noticed his hardened expression was even more stoic than usual. 

He maintained his stare. “Granger.” He tipped his head to her ever so slightly. 

“Malfoy.” Hermione nodded in return and stepped past him to start for the ballroom, stopping when she heard him clear his throat. “Yes?” She turned back.

“The dress is undone,” he replied evenly. He strode over and stood behind her, doing up the first of the lowest buttons. 

“I know they are. I was going to ask your father. You don’t have to-” Hermione tried to pull away, but he continued threading the buttons together, ignoring her. 

He worked his way up, wrapping each loop around its corresponding nub. With the closure of each one, his fingers brushed her back. Hermione held her breath, wondering how she could _possibly_ let herself remember the latest _Prophet_ photo at that moment. 

“Couldn’t you just…use your wand?” Hermione asked with a twist of her head over her shoulder.

 _“No._ This dress is a family heirloom. It has certain magic that prevents further wand alterations,” he replied as he connected the final loop. 

She had guessed as much.

A throat cleared at the end of the hall, causing the two to whip their heads towards the sound. Hermione felt the brush of his shoulder as Draco stepped around her and walked over to his father. She followed behind as the older Malfoy led them down the next hallway. Lucius made an abrupt stop, turning to face them in an instant.

 _“Could you at least_ try _to look like a couple,”_ he snapped in a hushed voice. He stepped up to his son, stopping an inch from his face. “Draco,” he whispered, but she could still hear what he said. “The last time I saw that dress, it was on your mother. Remember that when you are in there.”

Draco closed his eyes. For a brief moment, Hermione saw an ounce of emotion, though it disappeared as quickly as it had come. He gestured for her to move closer and she obliged. With the wrap of an arm around her waist and a pull close to his side, Hermione let herself lean into Draco’s touch. _Okay. You can do this,_ she thought.

Lucius straightened and addressed the two of them again, “Our Lord has just instructed me to inform you of several rules you must follow this evening. One, you are expected to be together at all times. We wouldn’t want Skeeter or any of the other journalist leeches to catch any moment where the two of you are apart. Two.” He turned to Hermione. “You are not to speak to anyone other than Draco tonight.” He redirected his attention to Draco, “and if anyone addresses her, you know what to do. I can be assured you have memorized the talking points you were given earlier, yes?” 

His son nodded. 

“Good. Finally, the two of you are meant to leave for the honeymoon directly after the conclusion of the reception. You will Apparate to our estate in France. Lottie will be there along with some of the cooking and cleaning house elves for the full two weeks. She will also provide you with the outings and reservations schedule. I will check in at some point.” He paused to survey them. “I will walk in first. Wait outside the doors until you hear your cue.” And with that, he led them to the entrance of the ballroom and let himself in, leaving them just outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: October 21, 2020
> 
> Pinterest board for this chapter: https://www.pinterest.com/QuellerKay/ch-3-unseen-quelling-the-quill/


	4. Snakes

From behind the closed doors, Hermione could hear a slithery voice echoing throughout the ballroom.

“My faithful followers, we have entered a revolution that has graced the wizarding world like none other. A month has passed since I defeated the so-called Chosen One once and for all.” 

Applause rang through the enclosed room, sending a chill up Hermione’s spine. 

“Since that great revolution, we have implemented three Advancement Decrees in an effort to unify the wizarding community. The first one replaced the Auror Department of the Ministry with the Department of Defence Enforcers.”

There was another round of applause. Cheers and hoots could surely not be missed.

With a resounding laugh, Voldemort continued on. “The second, as you know, disbanded the Muggle-Born Registration Commission.”

Hermione heard only scattered claps. 

“The third paved the way towards unity, love, and acceptance throughout our world. This, my friends, was the catalyst for the greatest union we have yet to witness. Today, we rejoice in the joining of two hands that were never meant to touch. Our beloved Malfoy heir has wed the once disgraced Hermione Granger. She was close with the dark Potter boy, and once fought against the greater good. But now, she has found the true way within our ranks, and has vowed her life to her husband and the cause. Let me now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.”

The doors swung open to admit them into the grand ballroom. Hermione’s heart raced as she entered, scanning the crowd for the familiar faces she hoped she wouldn’t see. Several flashes popped from various points in the room; Rita Skeeter’s signature hair was over by the orchestra. She felt a gentle push on her lower back and looked to her supposed lover. He radiated stoicism and determination, but drew the corners of his lips up, nonetheless. She plastered a smile across her face, too, as a wave of relief washed over her. She hadn’t seen any of the Death Eaters. No Bellatrix. No Carrows. No Dolohov. No Greyback. 

As elaborate as the scene around her was, Hermione was not surprised with the intense level and style of decor. Several dark chandeliers hung below a starry evening sky and a bright moon. Surrounding the walls were floor-to-ceiling emerald drapes that matched the many accents of the same shade integrated around the room. There must have been at least two hundred people scattered around the space that simultaneously turned their attention to the couple as they entered. Every occupant beamed at them and applause rang through the room. 

Voldemort stood across from her with a broad grin and black flowing robes. “Ladies and gentlemen, let us celebrate the happy couple!” he said, his voice magically projected and as eerie as ever.

The musicians began an upbeat song as she was guided further forward. She turned her head, looking around at the sea of people who were vying for their attention.

“Mrs, Malfoy, it’s a…pleasure to meet you at last.” 

Hermione snapped her eyes forward. For a moment, she had forgotten herself; that the way she was addressed was accurate. She opened her mouth to respond. 

“Mrs. Bulstrode, thank you for coming tonight,” Draco jumped in. He held his hand out to grasp the woman’s and lightly kissed the top of it. She blushed and - with a nod from him - turned away to allow the next greeters a chance to share their congratulations. “Ambassador Moreau, wonderful to see you again,” Draco said as he leaned his head forward to brush his lips lightly on her hand, as well.

“Mr. Malfoy, congratulations. I was so sorry to hear that your mother was hit with a nerve-stiffening curse by those _awful_ dark wizards. Of all things…terrible. Just terrible. Any news as to when the Healers will have her back to full health? I do miss our occasional lunch.”

“They are doing what they can for a speedy recovery, but I will be sure to give her your best, Madame. My new wife and I look forward to having you for tea next week,” Draco replied.

At the mention of her, the woman flickered her eyes towards Hermione, but made no acknowledgement that she was even there. “Ah, yes, the Château is one of my favorite places. I shall see you then.” The ambassador smiled at Draco and gave a small bow of her head, sauntering away.

Two familiar faces stepped into view. 

“Blaise,” Draco greeted his friend.

“Congratulations, Draco. Gra- Hermione,” the tall, dark-skinned man with high cheekbones and broad shoulders nodded to her.

Hermione struggled to keep the facade as her mind spun in a hundred directions, but she replied with a matching gesture. 

With an arm wrapped through Blaise’s, Pansy Parkinson stood holding a tight expression. Hermione ran through her memories of the Slytherins at Hogwarts. Hadn’t Draco and Pansy been together? 

“I am happy to hear of your engagement,” Draco said to the two with graceful poise. 

Hermione watched intently as the two men met eyes, but she couldn’t tell what they were communicating. 

“Thank you,” Blaise replied. “We do hope you will make it to the wedding. The eighth of August. My mother will send your head elf the details.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Draco’s tone was cool and sharp.

Pansy leaned into her fiancé as he nodded and they, too, sauntered away. 

The next witch in line stepped up to greet them. “Draco, how lovely it is to see you looking so happy, despite the dreadful ordeal with your mother. Tell me, she is at St. Mungo’s, is she not? It’s the strangest thing, I tried to send her a bouquet, but they said her name wasn’t registered,” the woman said, looking at Draco expectantly. 

Hermione’s eyes flickered towards Draco’s face. 

“Mother is not at St. Mungo’s, Mrs. Runcorn. She is in a private facility being taken care of by the finest healers. Please do send your bouquet to the Manor, and we will arrange delivery. They take security very seriously, so I cannot divulge the location. You understand.” 

The woman’s eyes lit with intrigue and slight disappointment. “Yes, of course, dear. Congratulations to you both. I look forward to seeing what good your marriage may do for the wizarding community.” And with that, she was off. 

One by one, individuals and couples stepped up to Hermione and Draco. Pure-bloods, ambassadors, and dignitaries of the like shared their congratulations and well wishes. Several people brought up Draco’s mother, but he swiftly steered the conversation away and exchanged various pleasantries. Hermione’s hands were folded politely in front of her, Draco’s left palm still resting on the small of her back. 

They hadn’t yet encountered each of the waiting guests when Voldemort’s projected voice rang through the space once more. “It is now time for dinner. Make your way to your designated seats now.”

The crowd dispersed and searched for their places around the many large tables. Draco grasped her hand and led the way, weaving through the maze of tables, chairs, and guests. Voldemort had gone to his seat, engaged in conversation with a short, stout man who had a long greying beard. Beside this man was the French ambassador, and beside her was Lucius. 

Draco led her to the empty spot on the other side of his father and pulled out the chair, gesturing for her to take a seat.

“Thank you, Draco,” she said. But before she sat down, she followed through with a thought that popped into her head. Placing a hand on his face and brushing his ear with her fingertips, she leaned into him, planting a soft kiss to his cheek. She could play her part well, though she felt him tense at the unexpected connection. Well, if she wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone other than him, she at least wanted to have _some_ semblance of control over her role that night. She took her seat as he sat next to her, Voldemort seated just beside him. 

“How lovely,” said the man she had seen speaking with Voldemort. She offered him a small nod as he beamed across the table at her. 

“Ve have not had a chance to meet, but I do congratulate the two of you for your marriage. To be togezer for so long and have to hide such love…I vould not be so strong,” the man stated.

“Thank you, sir. We are grateful Lord Voldemort has made it possible for us to go public.” Draco responded to the man and tipped his head to his master, then turned to Hermione. “Dear, this is Ambassador Andrei Zograf,” he told her, gesturing to the man. “His son is Lev Zograf, the Keeper for the Bulgarian National Quidditch team. I’ve mentioned him before. You remember. We saw him play in the Quidditch World Cup back before fourth year,” Draco said.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Yes, of course.” She smiled at the man. 

“I vas just telling Voldemort here-” Zograf started, but the entrance doors swung open, revealing a magnificent table levitated by several elves scurrying into the ballroom. 

All heads in the room swiveled at the sound and watched as the table was carefully lowered to the floor. The elaborate snacks, drinks, candelabras, and white roses filling the table were outshined by the giant ice sculpture engulfing the entire center. It was a magnificent peacock. Hermione’s mouth slackened slightly at the sight..

“Oh, my Lord, you have done an exquisite job! This is just marvelous!” the French ambassador raved.

“Nothing but the best for the Malfoys, of course,” Voldemort said, holding a menacing smile.

Hermione felt Draco stiffen slightly beside her.

“Magnificent!” the Bulgarian ambassador crowed.

A moment later, the plate in front of her filled with five tiny round shallots, each stuffed with a ravioli. In the center of the plate was a neat assortment of basil leaves. The setting was arranged to perfect etiquette standards. She had expected nothing less. She reached for her fork and was abruptly stopped by a squeeze on her right knee. Whipping her head to face Draco, he almost glared at her, but caught himself and leaned into her ear, whispering, “Toast.” 

Hermione caught sight of her flute filling with sparkling gold liquid. When she looked up, she saw all eyes fixed on them as Draco stood to address the room. 

“My new wife and I thank you all for being here and for accepting us as no other has done before our Lord. Over the past two years, Hermione and I have shared many hardships. We fell for each other in a time when hatred and division was the prevailing norm. We disagreed on many things, in large part due to the dark influences in her life-”

Hermione couldn’t miss the hums and nods of agreement around the room. She wanted to close her eyes; wanted to fight back and defend Harry; to defend herself. Her stomach churned with ire, but she reminded herself of Hagrid. She could _do_ this. This was nothing compared to the pain and suffering of so many of her friends. Her fate certainly wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t _that_ hard.

All of her thoughts were halted when Draco held his left hand out to her in what looked like a subconscious move, but she knew it had been calculated. She reached up, slipping her hand into his, and he pulled her out of her seat. His arm wrapped behind her back and he pressed her body to his as he brushed his lips against hers. The ire in her stomach turned to confusing flutters as camera flashes shone in the corner of her eye and several whistles rang throughout the room. He held her close, but turned back to face the crowd. 

“You may be asking yourself, _what could possibly have brought these two together_ _?_ Well, I’ll tell you.” And he looked her in the eye with a warmth she had never seen behind his steely eyes. “If it wasn’t for her smile, it was for her wit. If it wasn’t for her wit, it was for her laugh. If it wasn’t for her laugh, it was for her cry. And if it wasn’t for her cry, it was for her heart.” A collective _aww_ filled the space and he looked back out to their audience. “Let us all raise a toast to love, and to our leader, for without whom, our love would not have been possible to share with the world.” 

Hermione’s jaw almost dropped. _Bloody hell_ _,_ she thought, and she followed along as every glass in the room was lifted and brought to the drinker’s lips. Draco took his seat and started his first course. Hermione sat, as well. _Had he written that himself?_ She shook her head and began to eat. Realizing just how hungry she was, she wished there were more than five bites of food. 

The noise level rose as the guests struck up conversation, including those at her table. Beside her, Draco spoke with the Bulgarian ambassador, and Lucius talked with the French ambassador on her other side. She was happy to have a moment to herself as she struggled not to scarf down the appetizer. After a few minutes, the small plates disappeared and a larger one filled with steak, potatoes, and seasoned vegetables. Hermione nearly drooled as she devoured the meal, attempting to remember the minimal notes of etiquette her parents had taught her for dining out.

Several minutes passed before the final course was served: figgy pudding dolloped with apple bits and whipped cream. Her taste buds were in a momentary heaven, though she admittedly felt guilty about it. Her friends were surviving off of multiplied bread, rice, and soup. But, there was nothing she could do about it, so she let herself savour everything.

After the tables were cleared with a snap, Lucius stood and addressed the room. The whole space quieted in an instant. “It is now time for the first dance,” he stated, and gestured for Draco and Hermione to stand. 

_Dance?_ She had no idea there would be a dance. The last time she had danced - _especially_ in front of so many people - was in fourth year and even then, it wasn’t the most sophisticated of events. She had actually wanted to be there; wanted to dance with Viktor. And it had been fun. But this…

Draco stood and held his hand out to her. She took it and met his eyes, failing to see any expression there. Leading her to the center of the dark marble floor, he stopped and faced her, raising one arm and waiting for her hand to meet his. Hermione joined their palms and felt his fingers wrap around the back of her hand. His other arm slipped around her waist as a beautiful tune crescendoed throughout the ballroom. It was more quick-paced than she had expected. 

Draco must have noticed the panic in her eyes because he pulled her into the correct position and murmured, “Waltz No. 2. Yule ball.”

Hermione relaxed, remembering how she’d spun to the song several years prior. 

Draco led her around the dance floor, their movements clean and smooth. Surrounding them were lovely little _ooo_ s and _aww_ s. He spun her around, letting go of her waist, and catching her as she faced him again, her skirt twirling eloquently. He led her, moving her body as if it was an extension of his own.

At the final slide of the bow against the violin strings, she was pulled into a dramatic dip. This move was not part of the dance that she remembered, but she assumed he wouldn’t drop her. 

The whole room stood and burst into applause. Couples began entering the dance space as the orchestra started the next song. 

Draco pulled her out of the dip and Hermione waited to see if they would continue dancing, but he tensed. 

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

 _“What?”_ she asked indignantly. 

“No, not _you,”_ he whispered. “It’s…” He considered her for a moment. “It’s Umbitch. She’s making her way over here.”

Hermione made a sound of disgust in reply.

“Come,” he said, and he tugged her with him in the opposite direction from the plump woman dawning several frilly pink velvet bows. 

They managed to slip past most of the dancers. Draco curtailed a few of the lesser important attendees that were seated furthest from the stage and she was quickly pulled through small double doors. They stepped out onto a narrow balcony extending across the length of the Manor’s wing and around the corner of the building where they couldn’t be seen from the ballroom. Draco released her hand and walked to the railing, leaning against it and running his hands over his face. He stayed in that position, just breathing, but Hermione was unsure of what to do; how to act. She wanted to sigh and lean against the railing, too, but she wasn’t sure what the dynamic was. She wanted to relax and escape the tension as she was out there in a much-needed private moment, only she was with _Draco Malfoy_.

“You cannot possibly be surprised that this is what it’s like with _your master_ in charge-” she said, deciding to lean back against the house.

“He is _not_ my ‘master,’” Draco snapped. He pulled his hands away from his face and placed them on the railing on either side of him.

She scoffed. “Right. So, that mark on your arm is just a fun little tattoo?”

 _“You do not know me_ , _”_ he said in a low voice.

Near silence filled the whisper of wind. 

“Does anyone?” she asked passively. 

He stood stock still, staring out into the grounds. Hermione glared at his back but gave up and closed her eyes, realizing it wasn’t worth it if she couldn’t do it to his face.

She could hear the change of song inside and the hundreds of happy voices ringing through the space. It was sickening to her, really. The countless pure-bloods, complicit wives, and so-called “Defense Enforcers” who barely even saw war. Where were the frontline fighters, anyway? Was Greyback out there biting children as these people danced and smiled in their gaudy attire? How many Crucios was Bellatrix casting? Dolohov? She thought of the Order and how much she wished they could be the ones celebrating. 

“Look, I just needed a moment,” Draco said, and she opened her eyes to see him facing her. He was adjusting his cufflinks. “I really hate that woman.”

“‘Umbitch?’ That’s what you called her, right?” Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

“So?”

 _“So,_ I thought you were in her little squad?”

He raised his eyebrows back at her. “Sometimes, Hermione, you have to do things you don’t want to do to get what you want.”

They went silent again for a brief moment. “Well, she wasn’t my favorite of our Defence Against the Dark Arts professors,” Hermione said as she straightened and ran her hands over the fabric of the gown.

“No, that would have to have been-”

“Lupin,” they both said at the same time.

Hermione’s eyes darted to his and she gave him an inquisitive look.

“What? He may have been a shabby half-creature, but he _was_ a great teacher,” Draco said.

She rolled her eyes and huffed. 

He walked up to her and held out his hand. “We need to get back inside.” 

Though their interaction hadn’t been very pleasant, she noticed him settle his features into place carefully. He had prepared himself to return to the battlefield. She reached for his hand and let him lead her back through the doors.

When they emerged into the ballroom, they were met with many eyes turned in their direction. Hermione immediately felt Draco stiffen and noticed Voldemort speaking to his father near their table. Her eyes met with Lucius’s and she hastily looked away.

“There’s our shining couple!” Rita Skeeter and her photographer came bustling over from the edge of the dance floor. “Sneak off for a little snog before the big night?” she said with raised eyebrows and a smirk. 

“Now, Rita, surely you know they wouldn’t discuss _that_ kind of thing here, especially with you. Isn’t that right, dearies?” a horrifyingly familiar voice rang, and Hermione’s curiosity from moments ago disappeared. There was Bellatrix Lestrange. 

Of _course_ she would show up. She was Draco’s aunt and Voldemort’s most loyal servant. Hermione couldn’t fight against her visible reaction. She instinctively clutched her scarred arm and maneuvered her body behind the closest shield, which just so happened to be Draco. His weight shifted, allowing more of his back to shield her. 

Bellatrix tutted. “Come now, little lion, we’re family now,” the madwoman cooed with almost no attempt to hide her playful toying. She stepped up to her nephew and ran a long finger down the side of his face. “Ah, they grow up so fast,” she said. 

“Bella, so good of you to join us,” Lucius approached. “Unfortunately, these two were just about to take their leave.” He gestured for his son and stepped in front of Bellatrix, leading the couple away towards the ballroom entrance. 

Draco turned and waved to the occupants of the room, thanking them for coming. She could hear Rita Skeeter calling for them to wait and ordering her photographer to get a better angle. Hermione’s stomach churned. She couldn’t force herself to turn and wave a goodbye. Everything around her was a blur; the walls, the stairs, the Manor…they all spun around her until she was actually spinning away, grasping onto Draco’s arm.

\--

Landing on the gravel road outside the château, Hermione stumbled and felt as though she might be sick. Draco gripped her arms to steady her, but she yanked away from him, “Don’t touch me! I’m fine.”

He scoffed and turned away as she took several long moments to gather herself. Once she had breathed past the fear and calmed herself, she straightened and nodded to him. The tension in the air eased a bit. 

Draco was quiet for a beat, but relaxed his features. “She wasn’t supposed to show up tonight. She was meant to be in Romania.” 

Hermione nodded, dismissing the subject with the gesture. They stood there, not saying a word, until Hermione moved past him to see where he had taken her.

She gaped at the sight. It may have been dark outside, but the magnificent château was lit up with little balls of light that were hovering around the exterior. _Magical version of spotlights_ _,_ she mused. Square towers that were at least four stories high sat on either side of the two-story stone facade. There were casement windows doting the entire length; beautiful double glass doors with ornate wrought iron swirls in the centre of it all.

She could feel Draco watching her, but she didn’t care. “Where are we, exactly?” she asked. Her head turned in his direction but she kept her eyes on the stone building before her.

“Château de la Basmaignée. About three hundred kilometres west of Paris. Built by Septimus Malfoy in the eighteenth century.” Hermione made to question this, but Malfoy continued. “Come, the elves are expecting us.” 

He strode past her, assuming she would follow. As much as she wanted to protest the command and expectation, she hurried after him, holding up the hem of her dress. Her heels crunched in the gravel below. 

The door opened as they approached. “Master, Mistress, you are early!” admonished an elf with large hazel eyes wearing a black cloth. When Hermione was first told of her betrothal to the Malfoy heir and that she would be living with the family, she had spent many minutes calming herself and contending that at least one positive factor of the whole thing was her fair treatment of their elves. 

“You must be Lottie,” Hermione said with a smile as she stepped into the entryway alongside Draco.

The elf blushed, but before she could speak, a fireplace halfway down the hall roared and out stepped Lucius. 

“Father-” Draco started, but he was cut off as the seething man strode up to his son and shoved the tip of his cane under his chin, lifting it to bring their faces close together. 

_“_ You foolish, _foolish_ boy! How could you have failed to understand what it meant to not step one toe out of line?” he said, voice low and menacing. “We are lucky the Dark Lord has decided to let your little balcony trip slide this time. But _do not_ make the mistake of thinking we are safe.” 

“Yes, father,” Draco replied crisply.

Hermione hesitated, but quietly spoke up, “I- it was my fault. I’m sorry. I just…felt sick. I hadn’t had a proper meal in days; not to mention that I was held in that tiny room.” She clamped her mouth shut, unsure of what had compelled her to open it in the first place.

Lucius turned his attention to her and stared for several beats. His nostrils flared and she prepared herself for a screaming reprimand, but it didn’t come. He simply bore his eyes into hers, then turned on his heel and exited through the emerald flames. 

She let out a breath and heard Draco do the same. Looking to him, his eyes were closed and she could tell that his teeth were clenched. Hermione didn’t dare say anything. 

After a few moments like this, Draco opened his eyes and glared at her. _“I don’t need your help_ , _”_ he snapped, and swiftly stalked away towards the dark stone staircase at the rear of the entrance hallway, Disapparating before the first step. She stared at the spot where he had vanished until she heard the little elf’s voice in front of her.

“Mistress, will you follow me?” Lottie said, gesturing towards the stairs.

“Hermione,” she said. “You can just call me Hermione.” And she offered the elf the only smile she could muster up: tired and meak, but kind, nonetheless. 

Lottie’s eyes grew wide and her jaw slightly dropped, but she didn’t hit herself or start crying as Hermione thought she might. The elf simply nodded and gestured with even more alacrity than before. Hermione picked up her skirts, following Lottie up the stone steps to the left tower. Up they went for three flights. 

“This is your room.” Lottie was pointing to a door on the left-hand side. 

“Thank you, Lottie. Goodnight,” Hermione replied. The elf disappeared with a snap of her fingers. Gratefully, Hermione stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. She let out a sigh and looked down, realizing she was stuck in the stupid dress and still had a full face of immovable makeup and firm hair she couldn’t undo. But before she could even try to strategize how to move forward, a knock was at her door and a deep voice cleared its throat. Hermione whipped around, opening the door to see Draco standing there wearing a strange look she couldn’t pinpoint.

“The buttons.” he said in a cold tone. 

“Right, yes,” she responded, and turned to present her back to him. With feather light touches, he began undoing the buttons. She could hear him huffing as it took longer to undo them than it did to button them up. She stood still, waiting patiently. Once it was done, he cleared his throat again.

“Could you do something about…” Turning to face him, she gestured to her face and hair, “this?” 

He nodded, pulling out his wand. “Finite.”

The layers of makeup on her face vanished. 

He muttered the spell again as he flicked his wand further up. Her hair fell free, returning to its former busy state. She sighed happily, then noticed the look on his face; one she didn’t recognize.

“What?” She asked, raising her hand to her hair.

“Nothing. I’ll wait out here.” 

“For…?”

 _“The dress,”_ he said.

“Right.” She clicked the door shut and shuffled out of the gown, left in only her underwear. She found a fluffy robe in the corner of the room and put it on before opening the door again.

Hermione held the fabric closed tight around her chest and handed the dress to Draco. A strange look had settled on his face again.

“Really, _what_ is it?” she questioned.

 _“Nothing.”_ He scowled and stalked away.

Hermione rolled her eyes and clicked the door shut again, this time with more fervor. In the light of the moon, she made her way across the room and dug through the drawers of the dresser, shrugging on a pair of argyle sweatpants and a plain t-shirt she found. 

A table near the bed held a stack of newspapers; _Daily Prophets_ at the top and the rest a variety of wizarding papers and magazines. She threw back the comforter of the large four-poster bed with a tufted headboard. Slipping under the sheets, she curled up and flipped through the articles for a few minutes until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer and drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: November 4, 2020  
> Pinterest board for this chapter: https://www.pinterest.com/QuellerKay/ch-4-snakes-quelling-the-quill/


	5. Books

The next morning, Hermione woke to the sudden appearance of the morning light bathing her room. 

A high-pitched voice rang from somewhere to her right, “Good morning!” 

Hermione lifted her head and peered over the side of the bed. “Hi, Lottie,” she said to the tiny elf, voice groggy.

“Time to get up. Meeting in twenty minutes,” the elf replied before she started rummaging through the dresser drawers.

“Oh…a meeting?” Hermione said as she sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, yes.” Lottie held up blouse after blouse, dress after dress, tossing aside the ones she deemed unsuitable. “Here. This dress should do with…these shoes.” Lottie held up the chosen pieces, maintaining a broad smile. 

“Thanks, Lottie. That’s…really sweet of you,” Hermione replied, returning a weak smile.

Lottie beamed and laid the outfit on the bed, then snapped her fingers to place the pile behind her neatly back into the appropriate drawers. “Great! Lottie will see you and Master Draco in the-”

“Lottie. My…husband wanted me to tell you that you can just call him Draco,” Hermione told her. 

The elf’s wide eyes grew larger along with her smile. _“Really?”_ Lottie squeaked. 

“Yes. We had a lengthy conversation yesterday and he agrees that you and your colleagues deserve the respect of being treated as equals in our home,” Hermione said warmly.

“Lottie thanks you Mis- Hermione,” Lottie replied hesitantly. “See you in the sitting room soon!” And with a pop, she was gone.

Hermione sighed and threw her head back on the pillow. She was tired and definitely _not_ ready to face the day. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a few moments before getting out of bed, but it wasn’t enough. 

_Okay_ , she thought, _let’s do this_. She gathered the clothes Lottie had laid out for her and searched the dresser for fresh undergarments to add to the pile. In the daylight, the room was much larger than the one she had been given at Malfoy Manor. Hermione suddenly noticed the deep indigo wallpaper with little white peacocks perched on silver trees that twisted through the pattern. She rolled her eyes. 

Finding her way to the bathroom down the hall, Hermione quickly entered and locked the door behind her. There was a large window to the left, letting in natural light. The entire room was wallpapered in a light grey with silver designs that coordinated with the marble countertop. Beside a lavish walk-in shower was a large clawfoot tub with silver feet. She snorted. Trust the Malfoy’s to make a bathroom bigger and nicer than her bedroom in her childhood home. 

She quickly showered, then put on what Lottie had chosen for her: a light grey a-line dress with long slitted sleeves perfect for a solicitor or the owner of a well-off business. Charcoal pumps finished off the outfit. This was much fancier than anything she would have normally worn, but she really was meant to play the part of Lady Malfoy. She eyed her hair in the mirror critically. With only a few minutes left before the meeting and no Muggle blowdryer in sight, she set to work, twisting her hair into a braid crown. She weaved the ends into the edges, securing the locks into place. 

As she descended the stairs, Hermione ran through the possibilities for what this “honeymoon” could possibly look like. She wondered what kind of schedule they would have. Images of dark underground meetings with Voldemort’s cronies and pictures of disgusting public displays of affection flashed through her mind.

Hermione finally stepped off the last stone stair and glanced around. 

“This way!” Lottie called for her from down the hall, holding a door open.

Hermione smiled at the elf and made her way over, entering with a nod of thanks. Before her eyes was an incredible room. It had white walls with intricate details, a large onyx fireplace to her left, and three baroque sofas with far too many coordinated decorative pillows. Of course, there was a pearly silver imperial chandelier that hung above the table centered between all the sofas. The whole style reminded her of a visit to Marie Antoinette’s quarters with her parents just a few years prior. Though it hurt to think about them, she knew her parents were safe in Australia. She had decided back at Shell Cottage to hold onto hope that they would remain that way. 

Draco was already seated at the furthest sofa from her. He was in a dark grey double-breasted suit with a thin jumper underneath that matched the tone of her dress. She made her way to the sofa closest to her, leaving the center one to the right of the coffee table open for Lottie. 

“It’s 7:01. You’re late,” he said with a stony expression.

Hermione furrowed her brow and glared at him, declining to respond. Lottie settled on the couch and snapped her fingers. Three rolls of parchment appeared on the table in front of each of them and flattened. 

“Before you are your schedules for your stay at the château,” the elf started. 

Hermione picked up her schedule and flipped through the pages. There were only a few in the document, outlining just the following days. She glanced over to Draco’s schedule, which was at least twice as thick as hers. _Great._ She would only be provided a schedule for a few days at a time. 

“So, as you see, directly after this meeting, the two of you will go for breakfast at Café Gustave in Place Perenelle. Following that, you will head to Un Amour des Livres. Hermione, you will explore the shop. Admire the books, but it says here that Draco will purchase one for you of his choice,” Lottie continued.

At the sound of his name coming from the elf’s lips, Draco’s head snapped up. Hermione expected this, so she lifted her head, too, and presented a deriding smirk. Lottie failed to notice the exchanged looks taking place and continued with her review. Hermione had been satisfied with her little stunt and contended that small moments like those would likely get her through whatever the continued rise of Voldemort throughout the wizarding world would bring. 

“Lottie, we will be able to follow the schedule just fine,” Draco snapped coolly. “You can go.”

Lottie turned slightly red and jumped up from her seat. “Of course! Have a wonderful day!” she squeaked, bowing as she backed out of the room.

Hermione held her victorious look, but Draco looked straight to the schedule in his lap. They sat in silence for a few moments, each staring at their parchment. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the swirly silver patterns in the fabric of the sofa and could just make out the little peacocks sitting along the lines. _Ugh_ , she thought, remembering the wallpaper in her room. _What is it with Malfoys and peacocks?_ Hermione held her head down, but shifted her eyes up towards the man across from her, ripping them away when she met eyes with Draco, who was doing the same. 

After several more minutes, Draco stood and made for the door, stopping just before his exit to wait for her. 

Hermione’s eyes had followed him as he passed. His hair gleamed in a stream of sunlight, mirroring the silvery accents throughout the room. He was wearing it differently than he had at Hogwarts; gone was the slicked-back hair, replaced by an artfully messy look on top, shaved on the sides. 

She stood and folded her parchment, tucking it into her dress pocket. “Well, _Mr. Malfoy_ , I am looking forward to such a lovely day with you,” she said, her tone seeped in condescension as she strode up next to him.

He turned to her, his expression surprisingly lacking any sense of arrogance or snarkiness she had expected. Instead, it held more urgency and vexation. “Look, Granger. I don’t care what you do when you are alone or how much you want to free the house elves, but my father technically still has control over them and if you start trying to revolutionize their lives here and at the Manor, you are going to get your giant oaf and my mother killed.” 

Hermione held her intake of breath, then swallowed. “His name is _Hagrid_ ,” she replied. “And I understand what is at stake.” She looked up into his eyes. “So, I will happily cling to your arm and act the perfect wife in public,” she dramatically slipped a hand in the crook of his elbow, “but I have some semblance of decency, and therefore, I refuse to treat elves in any way remotely close to the way they have been abused by you and your family for generations.” She raised her eyebrows at him.

“I do _not_ abuse my elves,” he retorted.

“See, there’s the problem right there!” Hermione pulled away from him and crossed her arms, pursing her lips. “You shouldn’t _own_ another living being!”

His eyes rolled heavily. “So, what? I should release the lot of them right under my father’s nose?”

Hermione scoffed. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe that you would release them of your own will if you were head of the Malfoy family.”

“Got me there,” he said. His face was hard and his voice restrained.

The two of them stood glaring at each other for several moments. It was Hermione who finally closed her eyes and breathed in a heavy breath, releasing it as she opened her eyes again, willing the calm to wash over her.

Draco’s face relaxed slightly, and he gestured for her to lead the way out the double glass doors, down the gravel road.

Before their departure, he spoke again. “These outings are meant to showcase the success of Lord Voldemort in unifying the wizarding community in London. After France, I am positive we will be sent elsewhere in Europe. This is just the start, so we need to get it right and keep it up if we are going to serve him well. There will be reporters and onlookers who will talk and spread word about anything and everything we do. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Lord Voldemort has someone following us. We cannot afford to fight or mess up once we leave this property. Just…I can’t believe I am saying this, but just pretend I’m Weaslebee or something,” Draco finished as he scrunched his nose.

“Ron and I are-”

 _“Please_ don’t finish that sentence,” he interrupted.

 _“Fine.”_ She sighed. “Fine. I guess you can…I don’t know…imagine I’m Pansy.”

Draco scoffed. 

“What?” she asked, slightly curious about their interaction with Blaise and Pansy from the night before.

“Nothing,” he replied and held out his arm for her to clutch again. Once she did, they were gone in an instant.

The pair landed in a quaint little village where the sun was shining. Draco dropped his hand into hers and began leading her down the lane. The thought of locals, reporters, and a Voldemort watchdog following her was eerie. She wasn’t sure how to interact with someone she was meant to have been in love with for years. It ran through her mind that they probably should have practiced. Or at least that they should have talked through their ruse and planned any relationship-specific mannerisms. This was a huge task and Hermione was only then realizing how unprepared they were. They couldn’t mess up and that scared her. 

Settling into his side a bit more, Hermione grasped his hand tighter. She had never been great at improv, but she wouldn’t let that stop her now. She took in the picturesque storefronts and the cobblestone streets. The area reminded her of the little town from Beauty and the Beast, one of her favourite movies. Locals were wearing robes, walking about the area, and a small child played on a toy broom in the town square. She had never been to a magical quarter outside of Diagon Alley before.

Draco gently pulled her to a stop, nodding over her head at the door beside her. “This is the place.” 

She opened the door, Draco reaching over her head to hold it for her. The café was quite busy and the design was exquisite. If the sleek and dark furniture was anything to go by, she could tell it was a high-end place. 

“Bonjour, vous avez une réservation?” a young woman asked as she approached them.

Before Hermione could answer, Draco responded. “Oui, aux noms de Malfoy.” 

This was her first time hearing him speak French. He sounded completely fluent, which didn’t surprise her knowing his upbringing.

The hostess brightened. “Ah, Monsieur Malfoy! Suivez-moi.” 

She led them over to a table by the window; a clever way to ensure they were seated in the perfect position for the wizarazzi to catch a few shots. Draco folded himself into the chair across from her, but not before flicking his wand to pull her chair out for her. _Okay, so he_ is _capable of at least acting like a gentleman_ , she thought, feeling a little more assured of his ability to pull this off with her. She nodded her thanks to him, then they both fell silent and examined the menus. 

At last, a waitress approached their table. “Bonjour monsieur, madame. Êtes-vous prêt à commander?”

Hermione spoke up first to order a croissant with strawberry jam and espresso with cream. “Oui, je voudrais un croissant avec de la confiture de fraise, avec un café crème, s’il vous plaît.”

Draco looked at her and couldn’t hide the surprise in his eyes.

With a maiden surname of English and French origin, her parents had valued the French language and had Hermione learn it throughout her childhood. She had studied it personally on the side while at Hogwarts and was even excited to hold several conversations with some of the students from Beauxbatons in her fourth year, though they didn’t mingle much with her because of her friendship with Harry. 

“Je voudrais deux pains au chocolat, avec un café noir s’il vous plaît.” Draco added his order of two chocolatines with a black coffee.

The waitress nodded and offered Draco a beaming smile. She waved her wand to vanish the menus, and paused before she left to congratulate them, “Félicitations sur votre nouveau mariage!”

“Merci,” Draco and Hermione responded simultaneously. 

Without the menus for distraction, Hermione fixed her eyes out the window to observe the passersby. A hand wrapped around hers as it rested on the table, and she turned back to see Draco smiling at her. It was so odd seeing him this way, but she smiled, too, and felt herself grasping for something to say. 

“This place is lovely,” she said. 

“Yes, I am so glad I can finally bring you here,” he replied. 

There were two glasses in front of them that filled with water. Silence prevailed for several minutes as they both searched for words. The sweat on her palm under Draco’s grew uncomfortable, but she wasn’t sure if she should pull her hand away, so she let the perspiration build as the moments passed. 

“It’s nice to hear you speaking French. We don’t really get to speak it much at home,” he said. The words came out very stilled, and though they were out of earshot of others, he clearly kept up the ruse.

Hermione was thankful that her water glass filled itself up as she quickly sipped away at it, unconsciously keeping her free hand busy.

“As you know, I love the language. It’s a pity we don’t get to use it much; your English accent is starting to come through. We should practice together at home,” she replied as she took another sip from her glass. 

She watched in fascination as he turned red from embarrassment and possibly some frustration. The flush started around his collar and moved up to the tip of his ears, but his gaze held firm and falsely sweet. A flash popped out of the corner of her eye. Draco’s eyes flickered out the window, but landed back on her.

“Well, love, when you speak five languages, the accents can weave together,” he raised his water glass and gave her a wink as another flash popped outside.

The waitress approached their table once more levitating two plates. Draco released Hermione’s hand; she surreptitiously wiped it on her dress under the table as the woman carefully placed their food before them. “Vous désirez autre chose?” the waitress asked if they wanted anything else as she flicked her wand over her shoulder to summon their drinks.

“Non, merci.” Draco replied, eyes still on Hermione. 

She broke eye contact first, surveying her pastry and considering how best to proceed for this type of upscale venue. A slight scoff sounded across from her and she looked up to see Draco picking up his first chocolatine with his left hand. She nonchalantly mirrored his action, just accepting that her hand would be covered in jam. Her eyes instantly closed after she took a bite, letting out a soft sigh. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was; the reception dinner seemed so long ago and even then, the portions were less than substantial. She took her time chewing, relishing the delicate pastry. Opening her eyes, she saw that Draco was watching her, and she raised an eyebrow back at him.

He cleared his throat. “Is it good, darling?” he said, with a smirk. 

She swallowed. “Absolutely delicious. And yours?” she inquired politely.

Draco considered the bread he was holding, tore it in two, and put half in his mouth. He chewed slowly, making a show of it. She cocked her head, waiting for his answer. With her non-sticky hand, she picked up her drink and took a sip. 

He finally swallowed. “It’s delectable. Can’t say the same for your coffee choices, though. Far too sweet.” He sipped his coffee and eyed her.

She held his gaze. “Interesting, considering your breakfast has chocolate in it.”

Draco only smiled back at her. 

They worked through their orders, all the while maintaining their pleasant show for the growing number of wizarazzi outside. Once they were finished, Draco rose from the table and held a hand out to Hermione.

“M’lady,” he said. 

She gripped his hand, allowing him to guide her up from the table and over towards the door. “Don’t we need to pay?” Hermione questioned, but Draco chuckled at the comment.

“No, the Malfoys have everything pre-arranged. Poppy, our elf in charge of financial arrangements, takes care of everything,” he said, opening the door, and placing a hand on her lower back.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, but beamed at him as flashes cracked all around. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy! How has the second day of marriage been?”

“Mr. Malfoy, how is your mother doing? And how does she feel about Hermione taking her role as Lady Malfoy?”

At least ten reporters swarmed the area in front of the café. 

“Avez-vous consommé votre mariage?”

“Why all the tension, you two?”

Hermione whipped her head to the voice. Standing with a notepad and skeptical eye was a towering man in crimson robes. 

“Didn’t have much to say over breakfast. Honeymoon phase over already?” he continued. His Canadian accent was thick and his brows were high on his forehead.

Draco nudged her back a bit harder and declined to comment, smiling for the cameras as he guided her to the bookstore. She heard other calls for their attention and saw passersby stopping to see the commotion, but her mind was fixed on the doubtful reporter. Her heartbeat picked up speed. Was it possible he was working with the Order? Had he seen their recent issues of the _Quibbler?_ She had no doubt Luna would have written about her capture, but what would it mean for Hagrid’s safety, or even her own, if the truth came out? Of course, she wanted people to know; to stop Voldemort once and for all, but to accomplish it with minimal casualties, the press needed to believe the ruse for now.

Draco led her up the stone steps and into Un Amour des Livres. _A love of books_. She contended to ruminate on the skeptical man later, and instead focused her attention on her excitement about the next hour of being surrounded by thousands of books. 

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy, welcome in! I’ve been looking forward to your visit!” a man behind the counter greeted them warmly. He was just a few inches taller than Hermione and had a great white mustache covering his top lip, edges rounded up cheek-to-cheek. He wore mustard-colored robes that nearly made him blend into the neutral decor of the shop; gold-rimmed square glasses framed his eyes. 

“Marius, it is wonderful to be back in the shop again after…what, three years now?” Draco responded as he strode over to the counter to shake the man’s hand, leaving Hermione behind.

“My, has it really been that long? Feels like just yesterday you were in with your father,” Marius replied with a firm grip and a broad smile.

Hermione approached, following Draco’s path, and caught the man’s eye. 

Draco followed the man’s gaze and held an arm out to her. “Dear, this is Monsieur Mignone,” he said, smiling at her. Hermione settled into his outstretched arm, holding a hand out to the man and allowing him to brush a kiss across her knuckles.

“Ravi de vous rencontrer,” she cordially greeted the man.

“Ah, and she speaks French,” Marius said to Draco with raised eyebrows in pleasant surprise. 

_I’m right here_ , she thought. Hermione wanted to purse her lips, but she smiled sweetly instead. There was a slight pause.

Marius made a sweeping gesture. “Please, take a look around. Call out if you have any questions.” 

Hermione nodded, and set off down a row, though she could still hear the two men chatting behind her. 

“Your Lord is creating quite the stir. Rumors are circling that he is to visit the French Minister soon. Is that true?” the man inquired.

“Now, Marius, you know I can’t divulge that kind of information, but I would keep an eye out for an invitation soon, if I were you,” Draco replied, sounding ever the smooth talker.

“I shall! Now, tell me, Lord Voldemort must have been pleased when you and your wife came forward with your affair, yes?”

“I don’t know who was more pleased, our Lord or Hermione. She is very happy we are finally public, especially because we can now frequent establishments such as this one. She loves books more than anything.”

“Yes, I read that last week in a spotlight article about her in _La Voix du Sorcier_. ‘Brightest Witch of Her Age,’ they say! It’s unfortunate she spent so many years following that Potter boy, but I’m glad to hear she’s finally come to her senses since his defeat.”

Hermione gritted her teeth as she ran her fingers over the spines of several books about relationship advice.

“For days now, since the first article came out, I have heard young ladies talking about her as they come in and out of the shop. Everyone wants to be like Hermione Malfoy. My own daughter has started cutting out photos of her and plastering them around her vanity!”

Hermione heard Draco’s smooth laugh and decided to round a corner and head down another aisle, letting their voices trail off in the distance. She finally had some time alone. With books. She ran through everything she thought she should study within the remaining minutes of the hour: Fiendfyre, international wizarding laws, Gellert Grindelwald. But, she decided to go a different route. 

The store was extensive, spanning several stories. She passed aisle after aisle, up three floors, scanning the floating signs above her head. She shuffled past a few people; one did a double-take and the two others gaped at her presence. She assumed they, too, had been reading about her in the papers; about fabricated stories detailing her time at Hogwarts, dating Viktor Krum, being brainwashed by Harry, and falling for the Malfoy heir. She had read through Skeeter’s countless lies and had seen just how many reporters were in the Ministry Atrium waiting for a glance at the _happy couple_. She brushed it off and kept moving. This was her life now and she had to accept it until she could figure out her next moves, if there could ever be any. 

Hermione finally found the section she was looking for and was thankful to see the row was void of people. The books were organized in alphabetical order starting from the far end, so she made her way down the aisle and scoured the shelves, looking for something that would tell her exactly what she needed to know. She tucked the book under her arm and surveyed the area for a place to sit in solitude. Emerging from the aisle, a window nook with a cushioned bench came into view down the path. Hermione made her way over and perched herself inside, leaning partly against the wall and the glass. 

Below was a beautiful sight. Stone buildings with ivy grown up and down the sides surrounded a courtyard where several children played in the center fountain’s water. Across from her was a row of shops on the first story of the other building. Teenagers in little clusters walked in and out of the many doors. 

Hermione looked down at the book in her hand and turned to the first page. She started reading as fast as she could, flipping through the crisp pages and skimming for the information she wanted until she reached the last passage.

By then, she realized it had probably been close to an hour, so she returned the book to its place on the shelf and searched for Draco. On the floor below, she passed aisle after aisle until she spotted the blonde. He was standing at the far end of the row flipping through the pages of an old book. 

Hermione paused and hid herself a bit behind the end of the bookshelf. She was thankful this particular area was void of people as she observed Draco from where she was. He was so concentrated and she could tell he was deep in thought because of the way his lips moved as his eyes scanned the pages. What really caught her attention, though, was his hands. She had never really seen them before; never really caught just how-

“There you are,” a voice sounded. 

She whipped her eyes up to meet his as he closed the book and started walking towards her. 

“Here I am,” she retorted, shoving anything she was about to think in the far depths of her mind.

Draco flew the book back to its spot and reached for her hand. “Good timing. We should go.”

Hermione nodded and interlaced her fingers with his, really feeling the strength of his grip. He led her down the stairs and towards the exit. They maintained happy expressions and offered little waves as they passed the many people who looked at them. 

“Regardez, c’est Draco et Hermione Malfoy,” she heard whispered from a group of girls seated in a lounge area in the romance novel section.

As they approached the front of the shop, Marius called from behind the counter, “À bientôt!”

Hermione and Draco both responded at the same time, thanking the man and waving goodbye as they exited. 

“I’m meant to stop at Kiddell’s Wand Shop to speak with the owner, then we can head to the apothecary for our meeting with Jean-Pierre,” Draco said as they made their way through the growing crowd in the courtyard. 

Thankfully, the wizarazzi had lost interest in them after they entered the bookshop, but heads still turned towards them as they passed and entered the next shop.

\--

The sky was nearly black when the château swirled into view. Hermione landed on the gravel path clutching Draco’s arm, then snatched it away immediately.

“What?” he snapped, furrowing his brows.

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. “I’m allergic to pineapple.” The wind picked up and she shivered slightly, but she stood her ground.

“Well, you didn’t eat the clafoutis, so what’s the problem?” 

“The problem is that I would have _liked_ to have dessert-”

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“But, more importantly,” she pressed on, “the problem is that an allergy of mine is something you should know about me if we are supposed to have been together for the past two years.”

“Okay, so write out a list of your allergies and any foods you don’t like-”

“Malfoy, that’s not the point! We went into today barely knowing the surface level information about each other. And not to mention that reporter from earlier. He knew something was up! We have to prepare if we are going to pull this off! We have to run through _every_ possible topic; _every_ issue. We need to know everything about each other and we _need_ to be convincing!” Hermione couldn’t miss how Draco scrunched his nose. She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. “Well? Don’t you agree?”

His nostrils flared in a quick flicker, then he sighed. “7 a.m. We will meet in the sitting room again so we can discuss this in full detail.”

“Wonderful,” she replied condescendingly and turned towards the entrance to the château.

“And not 7:01,” she heard him say as she marched off down the path. She heard another huff behind her, then the crunches of a second set of footsteps. The double glass doors swung open and she stalked right through, not glancing back at him for a moment. She heard the slam of the doors and a crack just behind her as she ascended the stairs. 

When she reached her room, Hermione closed the door and leaned back against it, kicking off her heels in the process. The day had seemed to drag on for so long, especially with how much she had to fake a smile, wave at the many people excited to see them, and worst of all, be cozied up to Malfoy with zero preparation under her belt. Her anxiety levels were through the roof, and if she could lower them even a small amount in future outings, she would do whatever she could to make that happen. She slid down the door and rested her head back against it, closing her eyes. 

She took a few moments just to breathe and allow herself to feel, but suddenly the emotions rushed over her and she found herself crying. The tears ran down her cheeks, so she lifted the back of her hand to her face and wiped them away to little avail, then pulled herself up and made for the bathroom.

Hermione stood below the showerhead and let the water mix with her tears until they wouldn’t fall any longer. She was exhausted. Not physically, but emotionally. She had let herself grieve for the first time in weeks; since she had broken down alone in her tent at Shell Cottage. Although this time, she grieved her former life, and the added stress that weighed down on her. The collective energy and motivation she had thrived off of with the other Order members at the camp was gone. All she could cling to was the idea that if she continued to do her part well, she could protect Hagrid. And that would have to be enough for now.

When the tears had subsided and Hermione was pulling back the covers to curl underneath their inviting comfort, a harsh smack sounded against the outside of her door. Her head snapped towards it as a thick leather book with a powder blue cover and black lettering squeezed through the crack below and slid across the hardwood. _Beauxbatons: A History_. A wave of excitement rushed over her. She snatched the book up and made her way back to the bed, wasting no time opening the crisp cover and examining the text closely. She thought it odd that Malfoy would have chosen such perfect reading material, but she certainly couldn’t complain. For hours, she flipped through the pages, enthralled by the descriptions of late thirteenth-century innovation and years of French magical influence on the evolution of the school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: November 18, 2020
> 
> Check out the Pinterest board for this chapter: https://www.pinterest.com/QuellerKay/ch-5-books-quelling-the-quill/


	6. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my incredible alpha, Helene (ribbonofsunshine), and my amazing beta, Noodar! And thank you to everyone who has been reading and leaving comments! Your support and thoughts are wonderful and very appreciated. Enjoy :)

Draco sat where he had the morning before and stared at the clock. 7:01. Granger was seriously getting on his nerves.

She sauntered in with a sweet smile. "Good morning!" she said brightly, letting the sass shine through her falsely chipper greeting.

He maintained his glower until his eyes flickered to her legs as she crossed them on the sofa opposite him. He watched as she shuffled a bit to pull out her parchment and quill, attempting to flatten the paper on her lap as she shoved the side of the feather in her mouth and began to chew on it. _Merlin, what a mess_. Her insane hair was thrown into a pile on top of her head, yet she wore his mother's elegant casual wear, looking nothing like the Lady Malfoy she was supposed to portray.

"I think we should start with the basics, then, um…go from there. I know your favorite color is green, I know you love Quid-"

"No, it's not," he spoke up.

She scoffed in response and rolled her eyes. "Right."

"It's not."

"Well, your father confirmed the other night-"

"It's indigo," he said firmly.

"Hm," she huffed and flickered her eyes at the fabric of the sofa, then landed them back on the notes in her lap.

Draco had only managed an hour of rest that night and was running out of his Pepper-Up stash. He glanced at Hermione through his lashes and was thankful she wasn't looking at him to see his face twist to stifle a yawn. She scribbled away on the sheet in front of her and kept bringing the quill to her mouth in-between scratches.

"Do you _have_ to put that in your mouth?" he snapped at her, watching as she yanked her hand away from her face, a flush running up her neck to her cheeks.

"It's an unconscious habit I have while I'm concentrating, which I can easily say is more than you are doing at the moment," she said.

Draco lifted the corner of his mouth in a slight sneer. "I didn't realize it would take you such concentration just to go over some minor details of my life, Granger. Thought you were smarter than that."

The scowl that filled the witch's face was response enough, though she huffed and threw the contents from her lap onto the tabletop. She straightened and her face turned serious. "Malfoy, this isn't just about _minor details_ , this is about the entire dynamic between us. I know you know how serious this is. I will do anything to keep Hagrid safe," he rolled his eyes but she continued on, "and if I had to guess, you would do anything to keep your mother safe, as well." His lips slightly pursed. "Well, I spent a lot of time last night thinking about that reporter yesterday. He was clearly suspicious and I would bet there are others out there who are doubtful, as well. Just looking through the newspaper and magazine articles about us, it's obvious we are disconnected; that we aren't in sync. We have to take this seriously and be on the same page when we are out of this house-"

"I know," Draco interjected.

" _Well_ , then you should know that you were clearly very tense at my touch in at least two photos and I fully flinched at yours in another!"

He raised his eyebrows at her and leaned back, lacing his fingers together in his lap, "And I suppose you have a solution to that?" He held his stare at her as she shifted in her seat. The morning rays landed on her left hand and hit the ring he had placed on her finger perfectly. As she moved, the little gleams of light sparkled, sending his thoughts to just days prior when he had been sent to Gringotts to retrieve it from the Malfoy vault.

"Um…" Her eyes dropped to her notes on the table. "I've been running through everything for hours; barely got any sleep. I've mapped it all out here." Draco's eyes followed her as she stood, gathered her things, and made her way around the table. She bent over and held her parchment in front of him. "Here is a list of favourites: hobbies, food, books. You just need to fill in the blanks." She pointed to the scribbles she referenced. "And here, list any allergies, injuries you've had, and other essential information your…wife would know." She sifted through the pages and brought one to the front. "I've finished mine-"

Draco questioned her with a tone laced in snark, "Didn't I suggest this last night? That we simply write down-"

" _Yes,"_ she interrupted with an irritated sigh. "Yes, but this is only part of it. I think we need to…"

Draco pulled his eyes away from the parchment and fixed them on hers, though she had closed them, clearly jumping through mental hoops to proceed with the conversation.

"We need to…practice," her eyes met with his as they fluttered open, and he could see something behind her ambers. She looked very much like he felt; like she wanted to throw insults his way and never see him again, but also that she wanted nothing more than for this sham of a marriage to play out perfectly for the sake of keeping her person safe until…well, he hadn't quite thought that out. He could see in that brief look that this was their shared conflict.

Draco scoffed after a moment and shifted his eyes back to the page. "Practice," he repeated.

"What I mean is…we need to be comfortable with each other. We need to know how to…to touch and interact."

A hesitant hand landed on his forearm and he instinctively jerked it away. His eyes darted to hers again and found a look of pure irritation. She whipped around and stalked off to her sofa across from him, but he found himself standing and following her without a thought. He reached a hand to hers and grasped it, pulling her close to him so her side was nearly pressed against his chest. "You're right," he forced himself to say into her ear, despite every instinct in him not to.

He had also stressed on the reporter's suspicion; reviewed every article, every photograph, in depth. He had seen her flinch at his touch and the tension that was so present, and as much as he didn't want to admit it, she was right. They needed to be able to pull this off with ease while the world of prying eyes and doubtful glares tracked their nearly every move.

Hermione nodded and handed him the bundle of parchment she was still holding, turning to face him. They stood for an awkward moment, both unsure of what to do, until Draco dropped the pages and reached for the side of her face. He rested his palm on her cheek and felt her tense. Any reserve that was still left within him he shoved aside, sliding his hand behind her head and pulling her against his chest. He forced the tension to release and felt her ease, settling into his embrace.

They held this position for a few slow breaths until a pop rang through the space and they jumped apart. Draco's heart skipped a beat as images of Bella casting Cruiciatus curses, Voldemort flicking Avadas, and Nagini's sharp bites flashed before his eyes. The fear of the moment vanished and anger grew within him.

He whipped around to face the elf that had appeared behind him. " _Lottie! How many times do I have to tell you? Do_ not _Apparate into a room I occupy,"_ he bellowed, then breathed through his seething. "You are meant to Apparate _outside_ the room, then _walk_ yourself in."

Lottie's giant eyes filled with tears as she rushed out her apologies and ran from the room, barely holding onto the tray in her shaking hands.

"Malfoy!"

He turned back around to find Hermione's eyes wet, as well, as they followed the creature out. Though he expected rage from the witch, there was only concern settled on her features. He held a stern gaze, but within an instant, she, too, was rushing out of the room.

Draco sighed and ran his hands over his face and through his hair. " _Fuck."_ He walked several paces before he spun on the spot and landed in his bedroom. Every bit of control he had mustered up before meeting with the witch was gone with his autonomy. He had tried to set his pride aside. Tried to work with her to get on the same fucking page; to make this mess of a predicament actually succeed, but _one_ thing goes wrong in their _first_ attempt to ease the tension and he had already fucked it up.

Brandishing his wand - though it didn't work as well as his original one - he flung a crystal vase across the room and relished in its shatter against the wallpaper he had chosen as a child. He flicked his wand again and repaired his favourite smashing object just to crash it against the wall once more, but the tension that had snapped into place at the elf's pop failed to dissipate. He left the broken pieces where they laid and perched on the edge of his bed, dropping his head into his hands.

His sleeping hadn't been great since the Dark Lord had taken up residence in the Manor, but it had become significantly worse - nonexistent, really - since the night his father burst through his door with Voldemort in tow at two in the morning. He had been yanked out of bed by the collar of his nightshirt and pulled face-to-face with the Dark Lord.

" _Your services are required, Draco," the slithery voice left its owner in a smooth hiss._

Draco had stood there stock-still in his father's grasp and struggled to hide the swallow that forced its way down his throat.

" _You have failed me once, my boy, but with a bit of motivation, I don't think you will fail me again," Voldemort calmly sneered. "Deal with him," he said to Lucius, then turned on his heels. With billowing robes sweeping the floor below him, he exited Draco's room._

_Lucius tugged him closer. In the moonlight, Draco could see the terror behind his father's eyes. "Dolohov has just captured Hermione Granger. Our Lord has determined that this is an opportunity he can use to his advantage, and has decided that you will marry the Mudblood next week." He spat the words at his son with relentless fervor._

_Draco twisted his face into a look of trained revulsion. "Not bloody likely-"_

_Lucius brought his son's face even closer; an inch from his. "You will. Because if you get your mother killed, I will kill you myself."_

_Draco took a sharp intake of breath. "What do you mean? Where is she?"_

_Lucius lowered his voice to a strained growl. "I have no idea. She was taken from the library ten minutes ago, so you will do what you are told without question. Her life is in your hands, Draco."_

_His heart seemed to stop beating._

" _Now get to the drawing room. We have preparations to make," his father spat, shoving him away and following his master out of the room._

_Draco fell back onto the bed from the force of his father's throw._

He pulled his head out of his hands and searched for the clock in his room. He still wasn't used to being at the château. It had been several years since he had visited, though the place was a favourite of his mother's.

He was exhausted, which made it hard to use his Occlumency. He pictured the forest of his thoughts and feelings; envisioned every tree and branch. He focused on his mother and could see the towering beech tree with its branches intertwining with the large oak tree beside it. The oak tree was his father's. He mentally climbed her tree, reaching for the memories to soothe him. He remembered better days of running around the grounds of the château under the bright sun for hours on end, delicious dinners with the finest French cuisine, and reading beneath the stars until his mother called for him to prepare for bed. Those days were long gone. Now, not even the sun could pull him from the darkness that engulfed him.

He pictured the forest floor; there were green vines creeping up along the base of his mother's tree. Granger. Now, he couldn't think of his mother without thinking of Granger and their situation. In a rage, he summoned up his cold, icy wall of snow, smothering the entire forest.

The only thing keeping him going - besides the desire for self-preservation that came with being a Slytherin - was his mother. Being in her favourite place was a bittersweet reminder of her. He had no idea where she was; no idea how she was. Only the reassurance of the man who had put her in this situation, and a note she had written telling him she was alright and that he was on her mind.

The ticking hands of the clock told him there was still another hour before his and Hermione's first event of the day. Why they needed to make an appearance at the hat maker's shop was completely beyond him, but he would oblige, nonetheless.

A knock at his door pulled him out of his thoughts, so he gathered himself and found a watery-eyed Lottie standing in the doorway holding a platter out to him.

"Thank you," Draco said.

The elf nodded, holding herself together.

Before she could snap herself away, Draco spoke up again. "Lottie, I am sorry about earlier."

Her eyes grew impossibly wider.

"And calling me 'Draco' is fine, but only around myself and Gra- Hermione," he added.

"Of course, Mast- Draco!" Lottie squeaked and bowed slightly before disappearing.

Draco sighed, settled into a chaise at the edge of the room, and Accio'd the lists Granger had created. They flew through the crack of the door and landed on the coffee table before him.

He spent the rest of his brief time in solitude picking at the contents of the platter, sipping away at his fuel, and skimming through the answers the witch had put down.

She wrote about her love of reading, her fear of snakes, and her dislike of flying. She had detailed the way she preferred her pasta: with grilled chicken, mushrooms, and onions. She wrote about pieces of her childhood, though she had omitted bits about her parents and extended family. He rolled his eyes as he read. She really was…thorough.

Near the end of the hour, Draco had finished scrawling out his answers and reading through hers. He refused to answer her questions about his worst memories or what markings he had on his body other than the "obvious one." He rolled up the page with his responses and flicked his wand, sending it out the door and to the room she was staying in, then stood, turned on the spot, and landed in the foyer.

Hermione was leaning against the wall near the bottom of the staircase, looking as if she were struggling to stay calm. He internally groaned at the thought of another mini lecture from her about house elf treatment. Breathing a heavy sigh, he approached her and offered an arm for her to cling to as they left the property; out into the world beyond where the tension wasn't allowed.

She just observed him for several beats.

"If you're looking for some kind of apology, you're going to be disappointed," he stated, keeping his voice void of malice.

"I didn't expect as much," she replied, leaving the wall to meet him where he stood, though she ignored his extended arm, "but it really wasn't necessary to scream at her like that."

Draco dropped his arm and licked his teeth, considering how best to proceed. "I suppose we can agree on that."

A wave of surprise flashed across her face briefly, then she held her hand out, offering the connection back to him.

He laced his fingers through hers, nodded, and led her through the entrance. "We can…try again tomorrow morning," he said.

"Okay," she replied slowly. "I've actually…I've written out a few things we can do-" she cleared her throat. "Some tricks to build up the physical chemistry."

"Right. Yes, good." His stomach dropped, and it really started to sink in that they would need to get comfortable with each other.

As they moved throughout their day of public appearances, thoughts spun in his mind of their impending practice. It had been over a year since he had touched a woman intimately. Of course, there had been the few connected moments of their lips on the day of their wedding - if you could really refer to it as that - but he had been in a different headspace then; had been too busy to process or really experience the forced affection. Everything had happened so fast that day. _Up the whole night before drilling his lines for the press with his aunt… Running through a last-minute search of the Manor for any clues, any signs at all of where his mother could be… Coming face-to-face with one of the last people he could imagine being stuck with in this mess._

Granger had been exactly how he had expected: proud, broody, defiant. Yet, she had also been intriguing in a way he didn't fully understand. She seemingly had no qualms about her disheveled state; no care for perfect manners or impressions. And though he was meant to find this exactly what was wrong with non-pure-blood witches, he was drawn to the freedom of it all; the confidence she exuded. He loathed her carelessness, but admired her tenacity; envied it. As they greeted others, moved through the many shops, and ate their lunch, he struggled not only with the outward tension between them, but the tension within him yearning to be at peace.

The sun had started to set as they returned to their temporary home. They barely spoke more than a few words as they entered the glass doors and retreated to their separate spaces. Draco changed out of his formal clothes and strode out of the castle far into the surrounding forest to his favourite thinking spot, bringing with him the recent _Prophets_ and other newspapers. He was grateful there hadn't been any hiccups in the day's performance as he lay there for hours watching the stars twinkle into existence. He tried to focus on the sounds of the insects and the rustling of the wind in the forest leaves to lull him to sleep, though that never seemed to work, so he contended to read through the lies instead.

On the front page of every paper was a photo of nearly the exact same moment, all caught from different angles. Hermione sat across from him in the breakfast café. She sipped her water with a smug smirk as his face turned from pale to beet red. The moment replayed over and over again in his peripheral as he skimmed through the various takes on the scene from each reporter. Skeeter wrote about how Hermione was clearly making him hot and bothered on their first outing abroad. Payet at the French paper, _La Voix du Sorcier_ , wrote about their sweet, playful love, including an extensive description of their orders. The rest of the papers had pages and pages of similar interpretations and descriptions, except for one.

On the front page of the Canadian paper was the same photo, but a completely different take on the moment. The skeptical reporter, whom Draco learned was Stéphan Bertrand, wrote about the _obvious tension_ and _gross farcical display of a relationship_ he'd witnessed. Draco rolled his eyes at the man's careless regard for his own safety. Voldemort would never allow this to continue, but there was nothing Draco could or even would care to do for the foolish man.

It was only once the first few rays of the sun started to show that Draco abandoned his examination of the papers and headed inside to get ready for whatever Hermione had planned for their practice.

Draco had found himself seated in his spot in the sitting room at the agreed upon time. Hermione, however, had entered a minute late, as he had assumed she would. He had to admit that he respected her determination to hold onto any bit of control she could manage, though it tested his patience.

"So, I read through your lists," she started, seemingly trying to find a way to start the conversation.

"And?"

Her foot was swinging unconsciously. "No allergies, then?"

"No," he said.

She nodded and passed him a roll of parchment.

He examined the document before him that outlined a list of theatre tactics actors would use to prepare for romantic roles on stage.

_Utilize the senses_

_Physical and emotional connection_

_Trust_

_No holding back_

_Think as a team_

He read through the items a few times and tried to fight against the groans and scoffs that threatened to escape. Hermione must have noticed the look on his face because she launched into a monologue detailing the practicality of each point that was outlined in the book she had read at Un Amour des Livres.

"When I'm talking about utilizing the senses, I mean for you to focus on something that you find attractive on someone else and see if it can apply to me. For example, I will be focusing on your hands. I find them to be very attractive-" she caught herself and stumbled in her speech, "hands in general, I mean!" Her face went red. "I find hands _in general_ to be…attractive."

A playful smirk lifted at the edge of his mouth. As he relished in this newfound knowledge, he made sure to put his _attractive_ feature on full display, dramatically interlacing his fingers in front of her. He carefully looked her over, trying to figure out if there was any part of her that resembled some of the girls he had fancied. His eyes lingered over her cleavage, but he mentally discarded it, contending that it would be an improper place to focus for several reasons. He moved his eyes to the hem of her dress where he could barely see her thigh.

"Have you found a spot?" she asked, the red failing to leave her features.

"Yes," he replied, though he didn't offer anything more.

They sat in silence for a few moments until Hermione cleared her throat and moved on to the second item on the list. "So, physical and emotional connection…" she started.

He stayed still as she hesitantly stood and made her way to him. Just as she had done the day before, she placed a hand on his forearm, and though he didn't flinch away, the tension was as present as ever.

"See," she said, "this is why we need to do this." And without any more hesitation, she slid her hand down his arm and slotted her fingers with his.

He shut his eyes and considered how far to take it, teetering between standing and embracing her again or pulling her into his lap. _Fuck it_. He decided on the latter, wanting to get it over with. As she landed, a little huff escaped her lips, and he could tell that her body was tense and stiff.

"Relax, it's fine. Trust me. That's number three on the list, isn't it?" he spoke to her in as light a voice he could manage.

She nodded and settled into his chest, wrapping her arm around the back of his neck.

"No holding back, either, right?" he said, tightening his grip. She nodded, turning her head in towards his. Their foreheads hovered a mere inch apart.

He had always been a quick study and had achieved high marks in school. The only person who had ever outdone him was the person seated on his lap. It came as no surprise then that she closed the distance, touching her forehead to his and running a hesitant hand over his shoulder.

"See? This is good. This is what-" Hermione started.

"Granger. Shhh."

A distant pop resounded through the room, causing them both to startle. Hermione slid off of his lap at the jolt. Draco instinctively reached for her waist to keep her from falling to no avail. She landed in a heap and shot him a frustrated glare, but he rolled his eyes and huffed in response.

He jumped up from the sofa and followed the sound, leaving her behind as she scrambled to her feet. Glancing out the high windows as he exited the room, Draco found the source of the noise. At the end of the gravel road was a dark figure he recognised immediately. He strode through the entrance and quickened his pace down the gravel road.

"Draco, look, I am so sorry-"

"Blaise, you can't be here," he said sternly as he approached.

"I know. Pansy will cover for me if anyone questions where I am-"

"You should _not_ have done that. The chance is gone," Draco practically spat back at the man.

"We can still-" Blaise tried.

"No. Everything's changed now. You need to leave."

"Dra-"

" _Go,_ Blaise. _Now."_

A pained look crossed Blaise's face, then he turned on the spot and disappeared.

Draco let out a sigh and squeezed his eyes shut, running his left hand over the side of his face. He turned back towards the château and started for the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement in the window that he knew had been Hermione, but she was gone in an instant, and when he returned to the room, she was settled on her sofa.

He made his way to the left of the table and faced her, leaning against the nearby bookshelf. "Enjoy the show?" he said in a faintly snarky tone, though it lacked its usual bite.

She ignored the quip. "That was Blaise, wasn't it? What did he want?"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "And why would I tell you that?"

"Because I'm your wife and closest confidant," she replied with a mockingly sweet smile.

"Ha ha. Now, where were we?"

She looked as if she was considering whether or not to start something, but she gave it up. "We can move on to number five. I was thinking you would do well with this if you just think about how you worked together with the members of your Quidditch team."

"I never kissed my teammates," he said.

"No, I suppose not. But it's more about the flow and dynamic of it all, isn't it? You trust that as your eyes roam the field for the snitch, you're not going to get smacked in the head by a bludger. The Beaters are going to keep you safe."

He was a bit impressed at her words, though he didn't let it show. "So, you're my Beater," he said, offering a smirk.

Her face reddened again and she pursed her lips. "Within the context of the analogy, we are both each other's Beaters."

He scoffed and stifled a smile that almost surfaced, but this near-genuine response shoved him back into reality. This was _Hermione Granger_. Harry Potter's best friend. _Ron Weasley's_ …whatever they were. His features settled hard and cold once again. "I think this is enough for now." Pushing off the shelf, he flicked his wand, summoning Hermione's schedule for the weekend, and handed it to her.

"We're going to Paris?" she said as she stood and walked with him into the foyer, continuing to flip through the parchment.

"For the weekend, yes," he said.

"Hm, alright."

Draco glanced at the clock behind her. 8:15 in the morning. They had another ten minutes until they had to leave. He was thankful that the day ahead was not as busy as the last, though his task would be intense. He had spent several long hours in conversation with various shopkeepers and French Ministry men about the _noble_ efforts of Lord Voldemort, as was precisely detailed in his schedule. They had been intrigued by the work being done and had, for the most part, been supportive of Voldemort.

The first adventure for this day, however, was to visit the Keeper for the French National Quidditch Team, Bastien Janvier, whose family owned the Château de Chambord. The Janviers were nearly as wealthy and influential in France as the Malfoys were in London, though they had shared more than a few critical viewpoints of the recent events. He was meant to woo Bastien with his talking points about the Advancement Decrees and upcoming measures meant to unify the wizarding community. He had only met the man a few times when his father had taken him to matches throughout the years, but there had always been tension between the families. He was unsure of how this meeting would go.

Hands landed gently on his chest as he realised Hermione had stepped closer.

"Physical connection," she said.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, then shoved aside his internal reserve and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the crown of her head. He was mindful of the pins in her hair as he breathed in her apple-scented shampoo. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as his muscles relaxed the longer he held her. The rigidity of her body faded in his arms, and he felt her slide her hands around his back.

Lottie appeared with an echoing pop at the top of the stairs, and although she was technically following directions, he couldn't help the stab of frustration at her sudden appearance.

"Hermione! Draco! You'll be late!" she said, shooing them out the door.

Draco dropped his arms and stepped away from Hermione.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" she smiled, hiding a hint of a smirk.

"It was…better," he said, avoiding any real internal processing of what had just happened.

Lottie continued to wave the back of her hands at them, so they made their way to the Apparition point and spun away.

He landed on the light grainy pavement in the front grounds of the Janviers' residence with Hermione still clutching his hand. In the distance, near the entrance to the château, Bastien and his wife awaited their arrival.

"Welcome, Draco," Bastien greeted and held a hand out.

Draco completed the gesture and introduced Hermione as his "beautiful" wife.

"It is a true pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Granger," Bastien said. He took her hand and pulled it to his lips, kissing the top politely.

She looked startled, but gave him a kind smile in return. "It's lovely to meet you, too, but it is Mrs. Malfoy now."

"Right," he replied with raised eyebrows.

"Bastien, do introduce us to your lovely wife," Draco pushed through. _Great start_.

"Of course," the man said smoothly. "This is Marie-Eve. Darling," he gestured between them, "Meet Draco Malfoy and Hermione _Granger."_

Draco caught Hermione's nervous glance at him.

"Please, join us in the sitting room," Bastien said. He nodded towards the large double doors and led the way.

They walked in silence for what seemed like ten minutes through the mile-long corridor. Draco was eerily aware of the many portraits lining the walls, at least half of which were unmoving: Muggle-made portraits and scenic art.

The couple finally led them through an archway into a sitting room twice the size of the one they had sat in that morning.

"Tea?" Marie-Eve asked as she approached the side table and began pouring the tea into cups.

"You have a wand, ma belle," Bastien cooed to his wife. He stood behind her for a moment and ran his hand down her arm, planting a sweet kiss on her cheek.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Old habits!"

Hermione's hand reflected the tension that hit her as she realized the woman was Muggle-born, too. Draco pulled her close to his side and led her to the sofa Bastien had indicated.

As the others took their seats, Marie-Eve walked around with the tray offering each person a cup. Draco and Hermione each took theirs with a spoonful of sugar.

"Now, Draco. I know why you are here, and I must say that your words will fall on deaf ears," Bastien began. He was seated in the overstuffed armchair at the center of the seating arrangement. Leaning back, one arm draped carelessly over the back of his seat, he fixed his face into a cocky, yet skeptical look. His wife took the seat in between him and Hermione.

"Well, shall we switch to sign language, then? I am not proficient, but I can get by, if necessary, and am happy to fill my wife in on the discussion," Draco replied.

"Oooo, smooth talker!" Bastien laughed. "Much like your father, I must say. But he, too, was unsuccessful in his efforts to recruit my father years ago."

Draco held a mock-serious expression. "'Recruit' doesn't apply to the work I am doing here, Bastien. Lord Voldemort is an accomplished reformer and has made great strides-"

"The fact that you refer to your leader as _Lord_ is reason enough to avoid the association. Any man who appoints himself as the leader of a government and kills those who don't agree is not of sound mind to lead."

"That was in a time of war and the people who died were proven enemies of the cause. As Voldemort has said countless times, any drop of magical blood spilled is a waste. We have mourned those we have lost as a wizarding community and move forward with optimism in the name of unity, love, and acceptance-"

"You talk of the value of magical blood, yet you and your _Lord_ do not truly consider theirs," Bastien pointed to his wife and Hermione, "as magical." The former playfulness in his tone was gone.

"I love my wife and greatly admire her abilities. She truly is the Brightest Witch of Her Age," Draco said firmly.

Bastien scoffed and shared a look with his wife. She stood and returned to the side table. As she took her seat once more, she threw a _Quibbler_ on the table. A small intake of breath sounded next to him.

**THE REAL HERMIONE**

**by Ron Weasley**

Draco's stomach dropped as he read the headline and saw what the text wrapped below it: a photo taken at Hogwarts featuring the Golden Trio. In it, Hermione was smiling and laughing at something the two gits were saying to her. On loop, her smile widened and closed again in the most genuine moment of joy he had ever seen.

"What's this?" Draco said, struggling to stay calm and collected. He glanced at her and saw the emotion behind her eyes threaten to release. He placed a hand on her knee and squeezed tight; she covered his hand with hers.

"Surely you can recognize your wife, Draco?" Bastien said. "The whole account of her capture and this sham of a marriage is here. The truth is out there with the resistance. There is a new Order of the Phoenix and they are actively working to take you and your kind down. It's only a matter of time until they succeed."

Draco clenched his teeth and internally seethed, though he willed himself to outwardly present appropriately.

"Ron is mistaken. He was angry when he found out about Draco and I because of our own history. His account here is false," Hermione said.

Draco looked at her again. Her eyes were kind and she held a smile that would fool a dementor into thinking there was happiness within her.

"Miss Granger, I can assure you that all pretense is lost upon us. What is it they have on you?" Bastien's wife had placed a hand on Hermione's.

"Madame Janvier, _I_ can assure _you_ that there is nothing the Malfoys have 'on me' other than their utmost love and respect. I do hope that the two of you will listen to my husband about the wonderful work he is doing on behalf of our Lord."

Draco was surprised by the resolution in her voice. Any ounce of hope or fear that he had seen in her eyes only moments ago was gone and replaced by absolute certainty. She had masked herself with a sense of calm and air about her that rivaled his own mother in better times.

Past Hermione, Marie-Eve had pursed her lips and seemed to consider the girl in front of her.

Without warning, Draco was pulled from the sofa by the collar of his shirt.

"WHAT DO YOU HAVE ON HER?" Bastien bellowed and shook his firm grasp. "WHAT IS IT!"

"Really, Madame, I don't need any help!" Hermione was being pulled behind him and promised safety by the wife as several pops sounded in the room.

His mind spun with fear and flashbacks, and before he could process anything, he flung his fist forward.

"Agh!" Bastien stumbled backwards.

"Hermione, we can help you. Tell me what they are holding from you. Or who?" the man's wife was rushing out through Hermione's protests.

Draco reached for his wand, but a tiny hand had snapped from across the room and it flew over to an elf. Draco lunged forward and drove his shoulder into Bastien, crashing them back into a glass table. The shards scattered across the floor as the man screamed.

"Please! Stop!" Hermione's pained voice carried throughout the room.

Draco wrestled the dazed man's wand from his hand despite the little stabs of glass all over his body. He pushed on Bastien's chest once he had broken the wand free of his grip and stood, casting stunning spells at the intervening elves. Marie-Eve shrieked at him and threw offensive spells his way, though he blocked every one as he slashed the wand through the air.

Hermione had released her wrist from the woman's hold.

"Imperio." Draco's spell hit the woman and her screeches stopped.

"Malfoy!" Hermione screamed.

The woman's body relaxed and as he flicked his wand more, she walked over to her husband with blank eyes and helped him up, though he was limp and nearly immovable.

Draco summoned his wand from the stunned elf's across the room, then strode around the couch to Hermione and caught the tears welling in her eyes. "Come," he said, grasping her hand and leading her swiftly out of the room. "Lottie!" he called out, and she popped into existence.

"Sir! You are hurt-" the creature said as she took in the sight of him.

"Malfoy, you need to release Marie-Eve!" Hermione cut in.

" _Not bloody likely,"_ he spat. His anger was boiling within him, but he couldn't lash out there. He willed himself control. "Besides, she's helping him. And we need to get out of here."

"Well, once we leave, she can't be released unless you come back here to do it and that's the last thing we need!" Hermione stopped and refused to move forward.

" _Granger, I do. Not. Care,"_ he hissed through his teeth.

"Well, I do! Go release her and unstun those elves or I'm not leaving!"

He glared at her.

"I'm serious," she said, crossing her arms.

" _Fine."_ He turned back to the room and released all that were inside. "Finite." He whipped back around and grasped Lottie's hand, meeting eyes with Hermione as the room behind them stirred into chaos once more and the corridor spun to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: December 2, 2020
> 
> Pinterest board for this chapter: https://www.pinterest.com/QuellerKay/ch-6-touch-quelling-the-quill/


	7. Rooms

The three landed in the foyer of the château. 

“You did the right thing. I’m glad you-”

Draco ignored Hermione’s words and turned on the spot, landing in his room. He spent the next several hours mending his wounds and smashing the vase against the wall, though after a while, he did it unconsciously by the repetitive flick of his wand. 

By dusk, he was over the activity and had resigned to the library on the ground level. He was re-reading his worn-down copy of  _ The Intricacies of Rappaport’s Law _ when he heard a commotion down the hall. 

“My Lord, I can assure you they will be dealt with.” His father’s voice was troubled.

“And I will be the one to do it,” Voldemort hissed.

Draco pushed his back against the door. The pounding in his chest reached his ears and his breathing wavered.

“Bring me the girl.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

He didn’t allow himself to panic. In an instant, he twisted his body and found himself standing directly in front of the woman he was looking for. She bumped into him as she walked out of her bathroom in a robe, drying her hair. He muffled her startled scream with a swift hand over her mouth. 

Her eyes went wide, but he hushed her. “Shh. He’s here.”

Beyond the door, he heard his father’s footsteps as they approached. Stepping back, Draco flicked his wand at her to replace her robe with jeans and a jumper. The panic in her eyes was clearer than ever.

“Stay calm, it’ll be over soon enough,” he said, then disappeared on the spot. He was back where he started in the library. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but he had to warn her. 

Outside the door were crashes of glass against marble. He knew very well how Voldemort released his anger; much like he released his own. 

The crashing stopped. “Ahh, there she is. The Golden Girl.” 

Screaming ripped through the air, sending a chill through Draco’s entire body. He steadied himself before opening the door and striding out towards the horrific sound. He followed it into the sitting room. 

It was a disaster. The curtains were shredded, the sofas were overturned, and the chandelier was in pieces across the room.

“My Lord,” Draco greeted with a face carved of stone.

Hermione’s screams stopped, but she writhed on the floor in front of Voldemort and his father. The scene brought him back to months prior when the same girl had suffered on the cold, hard floor of the Manor at the hand of his aunt.

“Draco, so happy you could join us,” Voldemort said. His mouth warped into a wicked smile. “Tell me, how did it go at the Janviers’?” He slashed his wand through the air again and the screaming resumed for several long moments.

“My Lord, I apologize. We gave our best efforts, but the Janviers were adamant in their refusal to listen to reason. Even Granger’s persuasions were impressively convincing, but they would not be deterred,” Draco said. The image before him was more harrowing than the last time.

His father flexed his hand at his side. “As you know, my Lord, I have given many attempts to persuade the Janviers in your favor, and all-”

_ “Be quiet, Lucius.” _

With a slight bow, his father backed away from the action.

“The Janviers’ influence in this country is reason enough that this should not have deterred you from success in their regards,” Voldemort said. He released Hermione from her agony, causing Draco to release a slow breath, straining to conceal his discomfort from the violent man. Voldemort strode around the sofa to come face-to-face with him. “With their position, you know it is impossible to deal with them the way we would prefer.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Draco swallowed.

_ “Crucio.” _

The pain seared through him like a knife splitting through each of his organs. The bones in his body crumbled within him and his head pounded fiercely. The screams left him of their own accord and by the time the spell had ended, he found himself on the floor. 

Voldemort’s face grew in his sight as he drew closer, leaning over him. “As I must always do, I will clean up your mess.” 

The ceiling came into view, then disappeared again as his father’s features replaced it. 

“Get up, Draco. You’re fine.” His tone was weary, but firm.

The pain was subsiding, so Draco lifted his head and held himself up by his forearms. 

“Take care of your  _ Mudblood _ and clean this place up. You have an important appearance tomorrow and need to look your best.  _ Both _ of you,” Lucius sneered as he stood up straight.

Draco had no response. He hated this. All of it. He hated this man in front of him; the man who had just left. And, in that moment, the one person he was supposed to hate was the only one he couldn’t. 

His father left the room and a moment later, Draco heard the swish of the fireplace. He pulled himself to his feet and made his way to Hermione. She was pale and slightly blue. 

“Granger,” he said, and knelt beside her. Her hands were cold as ice. “Granger, can you hear me? Can you get up?” She stirred, but barely moved. 

Draco was unsure of what to do. He squeezed one arm under her torso and the other below her knees. He picked her up and held her body close as he made his way across the room and out the door. Apparition was out of the question considering what they both had just been through. He moved with haste, skipping a step at a time up the stairs and rushing down the hall until he approached her room. With a kick at the slightly ajar door, he entered and placed her on the bed. 

The whole time he had held her, she felt light and empty. “Lottie,” he called, and the elf appeared before him. “Please bring Gra- Hermione pasta with grilled chicken, mushrooms, and…onions.”

“Right away, sir!” Lottie was gone with the snap of her fingers.

Draco stood next to the bed where she laid, clearly in a daze. “Granger,” he said to her, but she didn’t move. He pulled out his wand and gave it a few swishes, transforming her clothes into nightwear and ensuring she was under the blankets.

As he brushed a hand down the side of her face, her head tilted towards it. She no longer looked pained. Her features were settled into a state of peace; golden in the light of the lowering sun. He looked at her, his mind spinning over everything that had happened. 

A pop sliced through his thoughts. 

“I have the dish, sir!” Lottie squeaked.

Draco turned to the elf and struggled to hide the frustration within him.  _ “Great,”  _ he said through gritted teeth, then breathed a heavy sigh. “Tend to her.”

“Of course, sir!”

Draco fled the space as Lottie started her care for the witch. He couldn’t go to his room; wasn’t done with the day despite the dwindling hours of it. 

With little patience left, he Apparated to the rear grounds, where fields of green were turning to black as the sun disappeared in the horizon. He summoned the old Comet 290 he had left in the château. All throughout the night, he rode the deficient broom until the morning rays broke through the trees. He landed, taking refuge under his favourite childhood tree. 

After a couple hours in the forest, he headed back inside and took a much-needed shower. He let the steamy water run down his body, soothing the residual pain from the previous day. 

He retreated to his room and discarded his towel on the floor, downing a Dreamless Sleep potion and throwing himself under the covers of his bed. There were no meetings for the day. No spewing of propaganda or sickening lies he had been forced to spread in the name of a tyrant. Granted, he had supported the evil man in the beginning. But, after all he had seen over the past two years, after all the unjustified murders and unwarranted pain that had been inflicted on anyone deemed inferior, he couldn’t quite muster the endorsement that was expected of him. Not to mention that he had believed for so long that to be pure of blood was to be superior. But, that conviction had been tested in recent months. 

\--

A knock at his door jolted Draco awake. 

“Twenty minutes to leave!” Lottie’s voice carried into the room.

He had no idea how long he had slept for, but if the yellowish hue of his room gave any indication, it was nearly evening. It had been nearly a whole day since Voldemort and his father had visited. 

He yawned and quickly prepared himself for the night with a few swishes of his wand. When he landed in the foyer, he saw Hermione uncharacteristically waiting for him near the fireplace down the hall. He was taken aback by the sight of her. She wore an elegant silk dress in deep purple and looked fully renewed. 

“Happy birthday,” she greeted with a small smile.

He tilted his head to her in response. He had truly forgotten about his birthday. The world was so different than it had been for many years. Before, his special day had been celebrated over nearly the whole month of June. His parents threw lavish parties and he never went without at least fifty presents. But, ever since his sixth year at Hogwarts, his birthday had been the last thing on his mind, and evidently the last on his father’s mind, as well. His mother had been sure to give him a beautiful cake the previous year, though the focus of the household remained on Voldemort’s continued efforts. The year before that, he had been only two months away from receiving the Dark Mark, which was all the conversation his father would entertain. This year, he was stuck in a fraudulent marriage with the pressure of winning over Voldemort’s most fervent objectors. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked stoically.

Hermione looked surprised, but the corners of her mouth moved into a weak shrug of a smile. “I’m alright now. And you?”

He waved the question off. “Built up a high tolerance.”

She raised her eyebrows in understanding. “Well, ready?” she said, then held a hand out to him.

He nodded and met his hand to hers, entering the fireplace with her. 

“Surprise!” A room full of people smiled at him and burst into a birthday song. 

They had emerged into an underground nightclub he had been to only once before. It was called Maison des Méchants; below the Muggle club, Raspoutine, and a few blocks from the Arc de Triomphe, if he remembered correctly. The atmosphere was dark and glowy by the lights hitting the maroon velvet that covered the furniture and floors of the room. 

He plastered a smile on his face as Hermione’s hand released his and dragged up and down the middle of his back sweetly. A glass of Firewhisky was flown into his hand, and one was flown into Hermione’s. 

“Draco! Happy birthday!”

“Eighteen, buddy!”

A cluster of former Slytherins, members of the Ombrelune House at Beauxbatons - whom Draco had befriended over the years - and a variety of other wizarding elite, were greeting him with birthday wishes when the song ended. People scattered to mingle, dance, and drink, several stopping to pat him on the back or shake his hand.

“Great to see you, Malfoy,” Theodore Nott said with a broad smile as he approached and extended a hand to him. 

Draco met his hand in a firm grip. “Likewise, Theo. It’s been too long. How is your father doing? I understand he’s been working closely with the press these days.” He walked with his old friend over to a table and sat on the bench that spanned the whole wall, Hermione taking her seat next to him and continuing her stroking movements. Theo sat in a chair across from them and flickered his eyes to where Hermione sat. She smiled brightly at him, playing the doting, loving wife well.

“Yes, he has been on a particularly high-level assignment recently,” Theo said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk.

Draco knew that his father was the lead D. E. in charge of influencing the papers, and that he had recently been assigned to manufacture the story behind his and Hermione’s supposed love while working with Rita Skeeter. The man was an absolute tool, but his son wasn’t so bad. 

“Well, that’s wonderful news, then.” Draco sipped his drink. “Are you here with anyone tonight?”

“No, I have not had as much luck with the ladies as you have.” His wink didn’t go unnoticed.

Draco smirked back at him. “How unfortunate.”

“I heard about your…” Theo leaned in, “interaction with the Janviers. Are you alright?”

The hand running up and down Draco’s back stilled. His expression dropped. “How could you possibly already know about that?”

“Come on now, Draco. Didn’t you see the evening  _ Prophet _ or any of the other papers?” Theo leaned back and raised his glass to him before taking a sip. “Quite the harrowing experience you had, I must say.” He summoned a copy of the French wizarding paper,  _ La Voix du Sorcier _ , from the bar, and handed it to Draco. 

**DRACO ET HERMIONE MALFOY ATTAQUÉS PAR LES JANVIERS AU CHÂTEAU DE CHAMBORD**

_ “‘Attacked by the Janviers,’  _ Draco read. He looked up to his friend. “Your father did this?”

“The Janviers contacted Porter Payet at  _ La Voix _ right after it happened, but what they didn’t know is that he’s been working with my father, who went straight to our Lord after the reporter Floo’d him,” Theo said in a low voice. “They reworked the story completely; even slandered the Janvier name. You should read the article. Take this copy. I’ll send a  _ Prophet _ to your room, too.”

Draco nodded, folded the paper, and tucked it into an inner pocket of his suit jacket. Beside him, Hermione had crossed her legs and leaned against his shoulder as she listened. 

“For the most part, the public has believed it all, and I hear the Janviers are even getting death threats. I have been helping Travers track public perception since the beginning. You two are really winning people over. It’s just as planned, really, but to see it happening, it’s something else. Especially considering what she is-” he stopped himself.

Draco glanced at Hermione and saw the dissatisfaction, though she clearly tried to restrain herself from sending a retort. He fixed his eyes back on Theo. “Do  _ try _ not to be rude, Nott. You’ll ruin the party.” He lifted his glass to his lips and took a long sip with his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, yeah.” Theo rolled his eyes. 

“Oi! Malfoy!” 

A group of already drunk partiers stumbled to the table. The call had come from an older man with broad shoulders and a sunken face whom Draco recognized to be Davet Dumont. He came from a well-known French pure-blood family who were all fierce supporters of Lord Voldemort. Draco had met the man several times, though he was nearly thirty and spent most of his time working on dark potions and hitting on girls ten years his junior. 

“Why don’t you introduce us to the new wife?” Davet slurred. 

“Gladly,” Draco said. He stood and gracefully helped Hermione to her feet, stepping out from behind the table. “Boys, this is Hermione Malfoy,” he gestured to her, then introduced the men in the group. “Hermione, this is Davet, Françoise, Jacques, and you remember Marcus and Graham, right?”

She seemed to hide a purse of her lips. “Yes, I remember. Hello. Bonjour,” she said to the men coolly as she drummed her fingers on his back.

“So, tell us, mate. What’s this all about, really?” Graham Montague said, failing to keep his voice at a level appropriate for indoors. His drink sloshed on the velvet carpet. “What’s she really do for you?” his face twisted into a nasty smirk and the group snickered around him. 

Draco clenched his teeth. There were only a few people who knew about the true nature of his and Hermione’s arrangement, including the Nott men, Blaise, and Pansy. He assumed Gregory Goyle would guess that it was all a sham, though he hadn’t seen him since they lost Crabbe in the Fiendfyre. But, regardless of who knew the truth, these dimwits should have been wise enough not to question him, especially with his higher place in Voldemort’s ranks. The only one here who rivaled Draco in that regard was Theo, and he knew never to argue against anything Lord Voldemort had decreed.

Draco dropped Hermione’s hand and closed the distance between himself and Montague, keeping his voice deep and dark. “You will bite your tongue on anything you wish to say about my wife or I will have Nagini do it for you. Is that understood?”

Montague sneered, but nodded his head curtly and backed away. 

“Woah, calm down there, Malfoy!” said Marcus Flint. 

“I zink I speak for everyone when I say we were surprised about zis whole situation. Your Slytherin friends ‘ere say zey never once saw you two togezer,” Jacques said. 

“Well, that was the point, wasn’t it.” Draco’s tone was crisp. It wasn’t a question. 

“Alright, alright, boys, that’s enough of us for now. Don’t want to anger the man too much on his special day, do we?” Davet said as he shoved his way over to Draco. The man clapped his hand on Draco’s back and raised his glass high. “To Draco!” he bellowed.

The whole room echoed in response, “To Draco!” and downed their drinks.

“To Draco.”

He looked to Hermione at her delayed response and caught sight of her faint smile. She held her glass of Firewhisky up to him. Without a second thought, he met his glass to hers and the crystal clinked, then they downed their drinks as the rest of the room had. His eyes stayed locked to hers as he swallowed the gold liquid. 

Shifting the focus back to the crowd, he saw that the gang before them had dispersed, and Theo had made his way to the bar where he sat in conversation with a flirty blonde bartender. 

Draco mingled with the various attendees, most of whom he had no interest in conversing with. Hermione played her part well; she  _ did  _ excel in nearly everything, so he couldn’t be too surprised. After half an hour, he led her to a spot in the open area of the room where people were dancing to the upbeat music. 

He leaned against a pillar as she rested her knee against his and sipped at her drink. They stood quietly for a few minutes, and as the time passed, Draco found himself following the sway of her shoulders to the rhythm. Back and forth, the movements hypnotised him until his body left the wall and floated towards hers. He didn’t think. He couldn’t. 

Transfixing his eyes on hers, the surrounding area dissolved into a reddish swirl in his peripheral vision until they were left completely alone. It was like he really saw her for the first time.  _ Bloody hell _ , she was beautiful. Perfect. There, behind the flecks of gold and amber in her irises, was a longing he had never seen from her before, and he couldn’t help but act. He closed the distance between them and slid a hand across her side, resting it on the small of her back. The other twisted itself behind her neck and weaved through her hair, then glided down her shoulder blades as he pulled her close to his chest. He closed his eyes, breathing in the fiery scent of the alcohol heavy in their shared air. She had run her palms up his chest, past his collarbone, and wrapped her arms around his neck. The pull was tight with need. It forced his head lower until he buried his nose into the curve of her neck. He was intoxicated, and not from the Firewhisky. He let himself sink into her further; as far as he could as they swayed together in the embrace. 

She squeezed against him and tilted her lips to his ear. “Mmm,” she breathed.

The vibration melted any reserve left in him. “‘Mione,” he whispered. “No holding back, right?”

“Number four,” she sighed as she dropped her fingers to rest on his abdomen. 

_ Merlin _ . His hands moved to her face and splayed over her jaw, fingers grazing her ears as he leaned in to connect their lips. 

Just as they were about to, a voice jolted him out of his haze and the room spun back into near clarity. “Come with me. Now!” Theo had a grip on his arm and pulled him towards the entrance, Hermione in tow.

Draco was shocked to see the state of the room. Couples all around were completely lost in each other surrounded by a faint pink smoke lingering in the dance area. They swayed and kissed and touched far too much for a public space. 

“What’s going on?” he asked his friend as they exited through a door into a parlour. 

“Someone released a Lovebomb,” Theo said.

“A Lov-”

“It’s like a Dungbomb, but it’s filled with a love potion,” Hermione interjected.

Theo glanced at her. “Exactly. Let’s just give it a few minutes and it should be clear-”

“No, we’re leaving.” Draco ushered Hermione towards a staircase in the corner. 

“You don’t need to go, mate. There’s still presents and a cake-”

“No. I’m done. We’re done.” Draco said, but before he climbed the stairs, he turned back. “Thanks.” He was grateful that Theo had rescued him from the dance floor, but he didn’t care to re-join anyone else in there. They weren’t his friends.

Draco ascended the stairs with Hermione in tow. Once they reached the top, he pushed open a door and exited into the street, closing it behind Hermione. The door slid back into place in a perfect fit, the edges fusing with the wall surrounding them to carefully conceal its existence.

His hand reached for Hermione’s without much thought as they started down the sidewalk, but she pulled it away quickly.

“What?” He stopped, turned to face her and inching closer. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we were being followed.”

She stepped a foot back. “Draco, don’t touch me.”

Her words hit him in an unexpected blow, and the furrow of his brows was unavoidable. 

“No! I didn’t mean-” she hesitated. “I just meant that- Well…the Lovebomb has…intense effects, so we shouldn’t touch at all.” Her face heated with a flush that rivaled any similar blush he had seen on her before.

He settled his features and nodded, then continued with her down the path, keeping a safe distance. 

The thoughts that crossed his mind couldn’t be stopped. He wanted nothing more than to slam her against the wall and devour her completely. To run his hands over the curve of her hips; pull her thigh against his as she wrapped her leg around him; and smash his lips against hers. He wanted to tangle his fingers into her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her neck. The memory of running his fingers through her curls stuck with him. The urge to rip her dress apart seam-to-seam was inexplicable. His eyes shifted to her arse as her pace picked up and she walked slightly in front of him.

_ “Fuck,” _ he murmured. 

“What?” Hermione turned around.

There was nothing he could do. He was utterly immersed in her scent; her body; her everything. He lunged at her and did exactly what he’d imagined doing. Burying his hands in her hair, he pressed her against the wall and connected their lips for the first time alone. She melted into his touch and kissed him back, fervently running her hands all over his body. She clearly couldn’t help herself either. They intertwined themselves further and further, rushing through the feelings they had yearned to act on in the past fifteen minutes. He knew that hadn’t been much time, but the minutes truly felt like years. 

A resounding crack echoed in the area, pulling Draco out of his trance, and the two jumped apart.

“Oh my god,” Hermione said. She straightened herself and clapped a hand over her mouth. The embarrassment brightly showed on her face, even in the darkness of the night. 

His momentary anger at the sudden noise dissipated, and he instantly felt a burn run up his neck to his cheeks. The effects of the Lovebomb were intense for both of them.

“Come,” he said. His voice was tight and sharp.

Hermione followed him as he swiftly made his way down the alley. They could have Apparated, but he didn’t want to risk anything. He couldn’t let himself touch her, so he walked ahead, refusing to look back, but taking solace in the fact that her footsteps echoed behind his. 

Nearly thirty minutes passed without a peep between the two until they reached an archway under a black awning with glass panels. 

“Le Royal Monceau, Raffles,” Hermione said with question in her tone. “But this is a Muggle hotel.”

“Muggles come and go in the main levels, but the highest floors are inaccessible to them. It’s witch-owned by Louise Lambert,” Draco said. He opened the door to admit her.

As they passed the front desk, Draco flashed a metal key card at the attendant.

“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Malfoy.” The dark-haired woman smiled back at him.

He nodded to her and continued down the hall, turning left before the staircase. To his right was a door labeled “Entrer, ceux qui ont le cadeau.”  _ Come in, those who have the gift _ . 

He waved the card over the lettering. The door swung open, allowing him inside, with Hermione following just behind. They had entered a narrow room with walls made of white marble. Just as the door shut, the room lifted them up through the building. Draco held onto a rail along the wall and surveyed Hermione, who stood across from him doing the same. 

All the feelings that had conquered his mind from the club were distant, though they lingered, prodding at him from within as he looked at her. Once they had reached the highest level, the door opened, admitting them to a suite similar to the one he had stayed in every summer as a child, and several times on holidays. Draco hadn’t been back much since his fifth year at Hogwarts, but a room was always made available when the Malfoys arrived. 

He walked straight past Hermione to the nearest sofa and laid down, taking up the whole length of it. He closed his eyes and flung his feet up on the armrest.

“Malfoy!”

He snapped his eyes open to see her looking incensed. “Yes?”

“Well, look how nice this sofa is! You really need to take off your shoes if you’re going to lay like that!” she said with raised eyebrows and crossed arms.

Any sexual tension that had been between them before had wholly dissipated.

“Actually, I don’t  _ need _ to do anything,” he said with a bite in his tone.

She huffed and stalked off through an archway to the left. 

Draco glanced at the marble grandfather clock against the wall. 11:30 p.m. The night had gone by in a flash, but at the same time, it felt like ages since he had been at the château. He closed his eyes and laid there, running through the events of the night.  _ Eyes swaying with her movements to the music; the tug of her arms wrapped around his neck; their lips crashing together, bodies pressed against a brick wall. _

He pulled himself up from the ivory leather sofa, shook his head, and walked the length of the room to the archway leading to the kitchen, just opposite the one Hermione had entered. This suite was new to him. Though it was just as luxurious as the others he had stayed in, it was far more linear than the rest, creating an odd sense of singularity to the atmosphere. 

He flicked his wand to pour himself a drink of Dragon Barrel Brandy from the drink bar, and sipped at it as he leaned against the counter. Once he had downed his glass, he threw it against the wall and revelled in its shatter. With another flick, the glass repaired itself and flew into his hand, just for him to fling it across the kitchen again. He did this several times, enjoying even the slightest bit of control the nasty habit gave him.

_ “What  _ are you doi- Ah!” 

Hermione had entered the kitchen and fell to her knees in a matter of seconds. She stared down at the small pool of blood growing on the floor below her. Several shards of glass stuck out of her knees and down her calves. 

Draco didn’t think. He couldn’t. In a haze nearly mirroring the one he’d been in only a short time before, he scooped the witch up from the ground and carried her swiftly through the archway, across the living room, then under the second arch. Without a thought, he lowered her to the bed as she winced. He hovered his wand over her knees and ran it down to her feet, murmuring  _ “Accios” _ to remove the shards of glass,  _ “Episkeys”  _ to treat the minor cuts, and  _ “Vulnera Sanenturs” _ to heal the deeper gashes. 

The wounds closed and the blood disappeared, and when it was over, he let out the breath he had been holding in. He slowly backed into an armchair in the corner of the bedroom and sat down, running his hands over his face.

They stayed silent for several minutes. He didn’t look at her; didn’t want to deal with her rage or questions until he could calm himself down. The feelings that rose within him were a strange mixture of anger and…guilt. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. The sentiment escaped his lips without his consent, but he didn’t regret the words. 

“It’s…thanks,” she said. “I’m fine now.”

He nodded, his face still in his hands. He pulled them down, dropping the right one and running the fingers of his left hand over his nose. They stopped over his mouth as he looked at her and met the amber eyes he was growing to know too well. 

“It’s fine, really.” She must have seen how his brain was hard at work; his mind turning through the events of the past minutes. Hours. Days.

Hermione braced her arms behind her on the comforter and sat up, examining his work on her body. “Looks good,” she said. 

He looked her over. “Yes.” His voice was barely more than a whisper because what caught his eye wasn’t the perfectly healed wounds. Rather, it was the pajama bottoms that had gathered up to her thigh - or, it was possible that he had shoved the fabric there, but nonetheless, he was taken aback. The argyle pattern was unmistakable. She was wearing his Hogwarts pajamas from third year.

“What?” she asked, noticing his stare.

“Nothing.” His voice was more defensive than he’d meant it to be. “Where did you find those?”

“These?” She tugged on the fabric of the bottoms. “I don’t know. They were just in the bag Lottie packed for me.”

Their eyes connected again, but only briefly, because this time, he was up in an instant, striding out of the room.

_ Fuck.  _ Something had hit him at the sight of her wearing those stupid pants.  _ Fuck, stop it _ . He hit his palm to his forehead as he passed the living room in a blur. Images of her legs flashed through his mind, sending a twitch of arousal through him. He groaned.  _ Stop. _ It had to be the effects of the Lovebomb.  _ Right? _ His imagination ran with the moment until he was picturing the hem of the baggy pants just below his eyeline, gliding them to the floor with his teeth.  _ Stop. Merlin, stop. _ He needed a distraction. 

Glass and blood were still sprayed across the kitchen floor, and he couldn’t be more thankful. He took his time cleaning it up, neglecting his wand on purpose. The gore before him was exactly what he needed. He scrubbed until the thoughts were almost as distant as the château.

A while later, he found solace in the leathery cushions of the couch once more. He could hear the minutes ticking by as the clock hands did their job just as well as his insomnia. Every once in a while, he’d hear a sound from within the bedroom: a drawer closing, a zipper opening, a yawn that couldn’t be satisfied. After several hours, a steady stream of water ran in the bathroom until little sloshes told him she had entered it. The splashes continued, drowning out the sound of the ticking clock, then the patter of the rain outside, and finally, everything. 

_ He was thrust into a scene he’d never wanted to join again. A slithery voice threatened his life and those of his parents until he shoved his sleeve to the crook of his elbow and recited the dark spell. The agony ripped through his entire body. He screamed and screamed, but it wouldn’t stop. _

_ He was lying in his bed in the Manor. A tear dropped from his mother’s eye and landed on his cheek. She had kissed his forehead. “Be strong, Draco.”  _

_ The Dark Mark glistened in the sky. He was running, his breathing unsteady. A shrill laugh echoed all around. _

_ He was in a forest. A flash of a red-haired man ran past in the distance. His mother called out, “Draco, come.” _

_ A hand pulled him along. “Come. You’re clearly not well.” _

_ He was lying in bed. _

\--

As the daylight broke through sheer curtains, Draco’s eyes blinked open. He had actually slept some after the terror.  _ Thank Merlin. _ The sweet smell of apples filled his nose, and when he fully took in the sight in front of him, he nearly choked. Hermione was fast asleep, curled towards the middle of the bed only inches from his face. 

Draco started to panic. He ran through the entire night, sifting through his memories to find any indication as to how he had ended up in this position. A stumble. Blood. Healing spells. Hands running over his face. Teeth over her body.  _ Merlin. _ He flipped the covers over and slid out from under them, his feet landing softly on the floor beside the bed. No, they hadn’t done anything. He was sure of it. Though he clearly remembered shuffling up close to a warm figure in the night.

He was in pajamas, and before the panic surfaced again from wondering where his wand had gone, he spotted it on the table next to his side-  _ no, _ the side he had slept on in the bed. He picked it up and quickly made his way into the washroom. Flicking the wand, he cast a  _ Prior Incantato _ and watched as the echo of a  _ Multicorfors _ was shown. He slid down the front of the sink and just sat there breathing for several minutes. 

She had touched his wand. Used it. She could have killed him right there; could have held him hostage, used him as a bargaining tool. There was so much she could have done to him, but she didn’t. She had just found him in whatever dreadful state he’d been in and helped him. 

The night had been the best and worst he’d had in a long time. At first, the darkness had swallowed him perfectly into a deep sleep, one he had ironically dreamt of having for over a year. Though with that came the flashbacks to his worst moments in life. He had re-lived them so vividly in that state, but they stopped after a little while and he had somehow drifted into blissful nothingness. He couldn’t remember a single thing he had dreamt for the whole rest of the night, and he loved that.

Draco heard a stir from the nearby room. He jumped up and stripped, gliding his way into the shower. The steam soothed him for the next half hour as he took his time under the run of the water, his mind spinning over the events of the previous night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: December 16, 2020
> 
> Check out the Pinterest board for this chapter: https://www.pinterest.com/QuellerKay/ch-7-rooms-quelling-the-quill/


	8. Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Posting this chapter a few hours late today because this was the first time I did a COMPLETE overhaul of a chapter ON posting day *insert smiling emoji with a bead of sweat. With that in mind, please note that parts of this chapter have not been edited by my alpha or my beta, so those mistakes are all mine! Once again, though, I want to thank my alpha, Helene, and my beta, Noodar, for all of their work on the pre-overhaul version of this :) They are absolutely incredible and I love them so much.
> 
> I want to give a huge BIRTHDAY SHOUTOUT to reader gingergrace! Sorry this was posted a little later than usual, love, but hopefully it was worth the wait! And I hope your day was wonderful despite the crazy year we are in!

Hermione didn’t know what compelled her to do it. Maybe it was the remnants of the Lovebomb. That’s what she told herself, at least. But regardless, she couldn’t just sit around while Draco writhed and mumbled agonizing pleas on the couch. She stalked over to him and grasped his hand, pulling him along to the only bedroom in the suite. 

“Come. You’re clearly not well,” she said. 

He followed her in a trance, holding onto her hand tightly until she helped him climb under the covers. She pulled his shoes off immediately; she was incensed that he would have left them on while he laid on the couch in the first place. But once she got them off, she realized she couldn’t leave him in a suit, so she nudged him. 

“Malfoy. You should change.”

No response. 

She hesitated for a few moments, then resigned to searching his clothes for his wand. Her fingers shook as she ran them over the fabric. She was worried that if he woke, he would attack her, thinking she was one of the terrors in his dream. The other aspect of the search steadfastly sent a warmth to her cheeks as she patted up and down his body. _God,_ she thought. What was she doing? 

Once she felt the hardness she was looking for, she hastily pulled it out of his side pocket. She stared down at the wand. It was longer than hers; darker and more pliable. She felt her magic buzz within her, though the connection to the wand was distant. She could feel its resistance. But regardless, Draco was fast asleep, and her mind spun with the reality of the situation. She could get out. She could free herself. 

She backed away, eyes glued to him until she stepped into the main sitting room, turning around and releasing a held breath. Her hand tightened around the wood as she stood there in the dark.

What would happen if she left? She was sure she could get outside, but where would she go first? Where _could_ she go? She couldn’t make it to Shell Cottage easily. Apparating that far wouldn’t work. She would have to find a broom or an international portkey, which she was positive she couldn’t access, especially being in another country. The Floo Network was being monitored, so that wasn’t an option. It occurred to her that there was possibly a trace on her. Regardless of all of that, she would be condemning Hagrid to certain death.

When she was first brought into the Ministry, they had pulled her into a room where Hagrid was held, chained to a table in the center of the tiny space. It had been less than a minute, but it was enough time for him to tell her, “Don’t do it, Hermione! Whatever it is! Don’t give in!” through deep sobs. Words couldn’t leave her; only sobs that echoed his. But as she was dragged away, the image of his blood-soaked beard and matted hair was etched in her mind. He had fought back. He had fought back hard. 

That was the last time she had communicated with him in any way; the last bit of evidence that he was still alive. For all she knew, she was doing all of this for nothing. But with any sliver of hope that her role in all of this was protecting him, she just couldn’t risk it. He meant too much to her. He had been there for her from the very beginning; from when she first entered the wizarding world. He was there for her when both Harry and Ron weren’t. And he was the kind of person who would risk anything for the people he loved. When she had learned that he was still alive and being held captive, she had vowed to herself that she would do the same for him. 

She needed to bide her time longer to find a solution to all of this. She was starting to see some promise in Draco. There was another side to him that she wanted to explore. And if she left like this - with his wand in the middle of the night - she would be condemning him to death, too.

Returning to the bedroom, she took quiet steps back to him, stopping beside where he lay. Her eyes roved over him, savouring the sight of him in this state. He was so peaceful; so different than how she had known him for years. It was strange to see him this way. He was still except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. She had never imagined him asleep before; had never imagined someone as cold, reserved, and guarded as Draco Malfoy in a vulnerable position. 

She swallowed and pointed his wand at him. _“Multicorfors,”_ she whispered, transforming his clothes into pajamas. She placed his wand on the table next to him and retreated to the other side of the room. Curling up into an armchair that matched the one on his side, she opened a book from the shelf nearest her. She read about French tapestries until her eyes drooped nearly closed and she was drawn to the comfort of the bed.

\--

Hermione shook her head as she sat up, realizing the bed beside her was empty. That was probably for the best. The sequence of events from the last few days whirled through her mind as the shower in the nearby washroom turned on. Pulling the covers back, she got out of the bed and quickly changed into a sensible outfit Lottie had sent to the room. 

She didn’t wait for Draco. In the kitchen - which she was happy to see was cleaned up - was a room service board on the wall near the fridge. A quill without a tip sat atop the item, so she used it to scrawl the order on the board, watching the letters appear despite there being no ink. The words faded after she finished writing out the order: espresso with cream, a black coffee, and an assortment of fruit and pastries.

Hermione leaned against the counter and attempted to process everything that had happened. The events of the night before were certainly unexpected, though they were admittedly more welcome than anything that had happened before the Lovebomb dropped. 

First, she had prepared in every way possible to practice and get ready for their outings. She had worked diligently on her own lists, and had created blank ones for him to easily fill out. In the late hours of the night - after finishing _Beauxbatons: A History_ \- she had outlined the theatre tactics actors would use to prepare for romantic roles. She had read extensively about these years before, but was reminded of them in her reading of the school’s history, as proper presentation was a major aspect of its structure. Sure, it had been slightly embarrassing to talk to Draco about _utilizing the senses_ and _physical connection,_ but it wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as having to practice with him. It didn’t matter, though, because she knew how important it was to get things right, especially after seeing the skeptical reporter’s article. 

The Janvier visit had been particularly challenging, considering that they could see right through Voldemort’s propaganda, and that they had her well-being in mind. She had sat on their sofa running through possibilities on how to get the information to the family that Voldemort was holding Hagrid hostage without Draco noticing. Even if they didn’t know who Hagrid was, they could have given the information to the Order. But there hadn’t been an opportunity, and the sight of Harry and Ron in the _Quibbler_ photograph had thrown her out of sorts. 

Later that evening, she had cried. She had surrendered to her emotions in the shower again. There was no way to stop the tears from flowing at the thought of the smiling emerald-eyed boy from the photograph. She had just returned to her room when Draco appeared before her and clapped his hand over her mouth. The fear that struck her in that moment hit like a bolt of lighting, but he had been there to warn her. _Shh, he’s here…Stay calm, it’ll be over soon enough._

She squeezed her eyes shut as she pressed her elbows into the countertop and covered her temples with the palm of her hands. The memory of his warning and what had come after it would forever be etched in the corners of her mind, much like the memory of the events in the Malfoy drawing room. 

The warning from him hadn’t changed anything about the situation apart from her clothes, but she was thankful for it. Why he had done it, she had no idea. But he had given her extra seconds; seconds she utilized to mentally prepare. _Stay calm._ It was what he had told her. When Lucius rushed in and gripped her wrist, yanking her with him, she had grit her teeth and felt a flash of fire within her. She had kept quiet until the _Cruciatus_ hit her; didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of a reaction until the involuntary screaming. There had been nothing she could do about that. 

_My lord._ It had been Draco’s voice. His cool, sharp drawl was the last thing she had heard before everything went dark. She had awoken in the middle of the night to darkness. The image of Voldemort standing in front of her, then towering above her as she writhed on the floor was too fresh. She released choked sobs for the second time that night. 

Hermione had spent the rest of the night curled up in a chair. She had pulled it to the window and stared outside, catching sight of a faint shadow twirling through the sky at some point. The figure dipping into the trees every so often.

By sunrise, Hermione had returned to her bed and read back through the schedule for the weekend. With nearly a whole day free before going to Paris, she had mainly spent her time relaxing and recovering. She had wanted to find something to read in the sitting room, but couldn’t bring herself to go back in there, and contended to stay upstairs until she met Draco for their departure. 

She had almost looked forward to her interactions with him. He had surprised her more than once; made several moves in their practice sessions that were almost kind. He had thought to warn her. He had asked her how she was doing after recovering from the curse. And their eyes had connected in a fleeting moment even before the Lovebomb went off. 

The _Lovebomb._ She hadn’t realized what was happening on the dance floor until his body moved closer to hers and his scent filled her with a sense of longing she’d never had before. She had glanced down at his hand, moving towards her waist with purpose. It slid around her body and pressed lightly against the small of her back as the other twisted through her hair. She had never been touched like that before. Fingers had combed through her hair and strong hands had gripped her body, but not like that. Her lashes had felt heavy under his spell, eyes drifting closed as she touched him back. She had _needed_ him; needed to be closer to him. And when his head lowered beside hers, her breath had caught. He was intoxicating. She had swayed with him and relished the heat of his body against hers. _Mmm._ She hadn’t realized the moan had left her. It was involuntary, but as natural as breathing. A whisper of her name in her ear; shortened. No one had ever said it like that before. 

The heat crept up her neck to her cheeks as the memory of his words ghosted through her mind. 

_No holding back, right?_ His hands had gripped her jaw, holding her steady.

_Number four._ Her fingers had found their way to his abdomen. 

Her thoughts skipped to ten minutes later.

_Fuck._

He had murmured it under his breath, but she had caught the sound. She had moved through a daze after Theo had pulled them out of the room. She hadn’t wanted it to stop, and she hadn’t cared that it was all because of a stupid Lovebomb. As they left, she had imagined his touch again; hoped he was watching her arse as she walked ahead of him. 

The moment he had said it, she had whipped around - breathing unsteady - and moved with him as he gripped her again, his touch electric. She was pushed against the brick wall. The cold on her back overshadowed by the warmth of his body, the heat of his kiss. She hadn’t been able to stop her hands from roaming every inch of him she could reach. His hands had buried into her hair again, and though she had only wanted him like that for fifteen minutes, it had felt like she had been wanting him for years. If the crack of Apparition hadn’t sounded, she wouldn’t be surprised if they had both willingly woken up in bed together.

_Stop,_ she told herself, standing straight from the counter. She wouldn't think about any of that anymore. No. She would think about how he had healed her. There hadn’t been any hesitation from him. One second she had been rushing into the kitchen to scold him for whatever it was he was doing. The next, she was lying on the bed, following his movements as he had fixed her. 

A ding in the next room jolted her from her thoughts. She shook her head and released a sigh. In the main area, the lift door was closing as a large cart wheeled itself in, carrying her order, a stack of papers, and a pile of wrapped boxes on its bottom shelf. Just as she passed under the archway, Draco passed through the opposite one. They briefly connected eyes, but she tore hers away, busying her hands with the coffee she had ordered. He approached the cart, as well, and went straight for the papers. Out of the corner of her eye, she scanned them as he flipped through the pages.

Her eyes roved over his hands, the same ones that had touched her the night before. The same ones she had watched in the bookshop. Stop. 

On the top of the stack was a small hand-written note signed by Theo stating that he had sent along the _Prophet_ article, as well as other recent papers about them he could gather. His note also mentioned that Draco had just missed Blaise, but that a letter from him was included in the stack of papers. Hermione waited for Draco to rip it open, hoping she could find out what was going on with the two of them, but he pocketed the letter. She didn’t dare ask about it; didn’t want to break the tension. 

The articles she caught glances of were all lies, as she had expected. False accounts of her and Draco’s experience at the Janviers’ were riddled throughout the pages of many eastern European countries’ top wizarding papers. News was spreading about Voldemort; her and Draco’s falsified story at the forefront of the dark wizard’s propaganda. 

She picked a banana from the assortment of fruit and turned away, opting to sit at the formal dining table near the wide windows opposite the lift door. The view outside was calm and beautiful, a stark contrast to what she had recently experienced. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower stood amongst the many buildings, the morning clouds passing its tip as the minutes ticked by. She tried to stay cool and collected with him in the room. 

Draco dropped an open box holding a birthday cake on the table. She had just peeled her banana and was taking her first bite when they made eye contact. _Fuck._ She hadn’t meant to meet his eyes. He lifted his brows, then gestured towards the dessert; the movement a question. She nodded, trying to finish her fruit quickly as he sliced a piece for her with a flick of his wand and summoned a plate. When he slid it to her, he made to leave, but she caught his wrist and gave him a look, despite the blush that rose to her cheeks.

He took the seat next to her, summoning a plate for himself and starting on his own slice of cake. They sat in silence for several minutes until Hermione chuckled to herself. 

“Something funny?” he asked, though this time, his tone was void of any malice; so different than when he had first said it after they signed the marriage document.

She looked up into his eyes and lifted the corner of her mouth in unison with her brows. “You’re having chocolate for breakfast again.”

He huffed a tiny laugh and looked back down, continuing to eat. She searched his face for any blush; any sign that he had ran through the events of the previous night, too. If he had, he didn’t give anything away.

They finished their drinks and food in near silence again, and just as Draco was about to get up, Hermione cleared her throat. “So…what was that last night?”

The blush she was looking for finally appeared. “What was what?”

“You were shattering glass against the wall,” she said.

His features sharpened, and she immediately regretted speaking up at all.

She kept going. “I appreciate your help after I fell, but why did it need to happen in the first place?”

He stood from the table and cleared it of the remnants of their breakfast, averting his gaze from her. “I believe I apologized last night-”

“Malfoy, I’m not mad, I’m just-”

_“Hermione,_ please, let’s drop it,” he said. 

The words died in her throat at the sound of her name. “Okay,” she said, her voice small. 

He retreated to the bedroom, and for the next fifteen minutes, she waited at the table, staring out the window. 

When he returned, he didn’t look at her. He waved his wand at the lift door and gestured for her to accompany him. She swallowed and followed him into the lift, keeping herself pressed against the opposite wall. Neither of them spoke the whole way down. As a disembodied voice announced their arrival at the lobby, Draco led her down the hall, halting when he saw an exasperated employee explaining to several people with large cameras and notepads that he could not give out the personal information of guests. 

“Come.” He pulled her the opposite way towards a rear exit of the building. 

She followed a pace behind him through the back alley, trying to remember that they had to play their parts today. They would have to touch again; hold hands and smile at each other. She quickened her steps to catch up with him, reaching out her hand. He flinched at her touch, but let her lace her fingers through his. They were cold, and as they walked together, she could feel the tension in his grasp.

“So,” she started, “we’re meeting with Leon Laurent and Yamis Fournier from the _Bureau des Magicommunications_ now?” She already knew the answer. She had memorized the schedule for the day.

“It’s Yanis, but yes, we are meeting them at Sûre Cerises. It’s a few blocks from here.” His tone was sharp; businesslike. 

She nodded and searched for something else to say. Nothing came to mind, and she had waited too long to continue, so she stayed quiet.

They made it to Sûre Cerises - a low-key wizarding pub - a few minutes later, managing to avoid the wizarazzi completely. Draco flung the door open with a flick of his wand. Despite the brightness of the morning outside, the pub was dark and windowless, concealing the time of day with a constant evening feel. Upon their entrance, the few people that were scattered around the room glanced in their direction. She was led along the row of stools at the bar and past the barkeep, whom she caught inclining his head at Draco. In the far corner of the room, Draco guided her to a circular booth where five men and one woman sat, looking at the pair of them walking their way. In their meetings prior to the one with the Janviers, Hermione had stayed quiet and smiled politely, as she was meant to do according to her schedule. She was instructed to do the same in this meeting, but got an eerie feeling at the additional heads at the table.

The closest man stood and greeted Draco. “Monsieur Malfoy, bienvenue.” 

“Monsieur Laurent.” Draco gripped the man’s hand, then addressed the whole group. “Messieurs. Mademoiselle. Good to meet you. This is my wife, Hermione.” 

As he gestured to her, she smiled and offered a slight bow of her head. Most of those at the table were noticeably uncomfortable with her presence; one man lifted his brows at her, one smiled, and a couple others others nodded her way. She followed suit as Draco took a seat. As she crossed one leg over the other, he placed a hand on her thigh, and the image of him gripping her there the night before and pulling her into him flashed through her mind. She shoved the thought aside. 

“Now, Laurent, I appreciate you and Monsieur Fournier agreeing to meet me, but I did not agree to meet with any more than the two of you.” Draco’s voice was polite, yet commanding. He could hold attention with ease, and added to the already thick air of tension simply with the ring of his tone.

Several of the people at the table shifted where they sat, though the only other woman present showed no discomfort. 

“Monsieur Malfoy,” she spoke up, holding a hand out to Draco. “Odette Roux. C’est un…plaisir.”

_Did she have to say “pleasure” like that?_ Hermione stiffened slightly as an immediate _dis_ pleasure of this woman grew within her. It wasn’t solely the woman’s overly flirty interaction with her fake husband that did it, though that definitely contributed to the problem. It was the combination of that action with her plunging neckline and complete dismissal of Hermione’s existence that forced her to concentrate extra hard on maintaining a pleasant expression.

Hermione’s eyes followed Draco’s movements as he shook her hand. “Likewise,” he said.

Odette smiled at Draco and gestured to the three men he hadn’t yet been acquainted with. “Zis is Vincent, Paul, and Augustin. We work at JLL, ze real estate firm across ze street from ze Ministry. I ‘ave known Yanis for years, and when ‘e told me zat ‘e was meeting with Draco Malfoy,” her eyes glistened as they ran over Draco, “I couldn’t miss ze opportunity-”

“I ‘ave to admit,” the man Odette had pointed out as Paul interjected, “zat it was interesting to learn of ze famous Malfoy ‘eir’s involvement with a née de moldus.” He glanced at Hermione. “Muggle-born, as you call them.”

Hermione’s smile dropped, and the whole table waited with bated breath for several beats.

Draco finally spoke up. “And? Your point?”

“Well…” Paul looked to his companions, silently asking for help.

“If I may,” Odette said. “For years, Lord Voldemort and ‘is sympathizers were strong supporters of pure-blood ideals and blood supremacy. But now-”

“This is not the time to focus on outdated beliefs that only encouraged revolt from dissenters,” Draco cut the woman off and launched into his well-rehearsed speech. 

Hermione had heard various versions of his spiel several times now. At the apothecary in Place Perenelle, Draco had run through a quick pitch to confirm the owner and longtime Voldemort sympathizer, Jean-Pierre, was in full support. The meeting after that had taken longer because it was with four recent graduates of Beauxbatons whom Voldemort had sent Draco to recruit for new Defence Enforcer positions in France. The recruits had many questions, but were excited about the prospect of playing a vital role in the expansion of Voldemort’s efforts. Hermione had felt sick the entire time, and was feeling similarly in this moment as he ran through his talking points.

“Lord Voldemort has made great strides in the United Kingdom since the Resolution of Hogwarts, and he only wishes to continue these efforts further across Europe. His first three Advancement Decrees have already made Britain's wizarding community stronger. The first replaced the seriously failing Auror Department of the British Ministry with the Department of Defense Enforcers. The second disbanded the Muggle-born Registration Commission, which was an unfortunate, yet necessary step during a time of war. In the aftermath of the Resolution, however, Lord Voldemort saw it more important to focus efforts on promoting a community of love, unity, and acceptance. That is what led to the third decree, without which Hermione and I would not be sitting here with you now.” Draco squeezed Hermione’s knee, turning to her and offering a warm smile. 

She smiled back, and raised a hand, placing it on his cheek, pushing aside any notion of unease at his speech. He turned his face to press a soft kiss to her palm, and she did her best not to start at the intimate gesture. 

Turning back to face the group once more, he continued. “Lord Voldemort is planning on implementing his Decrees here and is looking for some inside support to make the transition run smoothly. Of course, those who show public support will be given a little incentive to ensure their loyalty.”

The group exchanged glances. 

“This will be negotiated between you and a select member of Lord Voldemort’s trusted Enforcers, if you so choose to support the cause,” he said. 

Vincent cleared his throat. “You will not be ze one we deal with?” he asked.

Draco laughed. “I am but a messenger at this time. With our honeymoon being here in France, Lord Voldemort felt it would have been a wasted opportunity if I didn’t make the rounds on his behalf.” 

The group collectively nodded with raised eyebrows, seemingly impressed with the exclusivity of it all. Hermione was quickly learning how tailored these pitches were to the individuals Draco met with. He was clearly meant to hit the major talking points, but the approach was specific to the wants and needs of the meeting attendees. 

“Well, Monsieur Malfoy, I think I can speak for all of us when I say zat Voldemort’s work is monumental. I look forward to seeing what he will do for ze French wizarding community and beyond,” Yanis Fournier said. 

“Je suis d'accord,” Odette agreed.

The rest of the meeting flowed with pleasant conversation. Hermione stayed quiet, laughing with the others when appropriate and feigning interest in the ramblings, though her mind was focused on the way Draco absentmindedly played with the hem of her dress. 

At the end of their second hour at the table, Draco told the group that a liaison of Voldemort’s would be stationed in France in the coming weeks and would be in contact with them soon. He stood, and the rest of the table followed, all wishing him and Hermione a lovely rest of their honeymoon. As they set off towards their next destination, Hermione ran through every new bit of information she had heard in his spiel. Voldemort was planning to station someone in France. Sooner than later, he would have “liaisons” in countries all over Europe, and would be implementing his Advancement Decrees anywhere he could. He was bound to continue creating such Decrees that easily fooled the reader. On the surface, they seemed to be great steps towards a better world, but she knew first-hand how much of a farce they truly were. _Where_ was the bloody International Confederation of Wizards? How could they and countless others let him get away with this?

Her furrowed brow must have given it away that she was in deep thought because she found herself jolting to Draco speaking directly to her. 

“I need you here with me right now,” he said.

She shook her head and rubbed her temples. “Sorry! Yes, I’m here.”

No response. 

“I just have a lot on my mind,” she added.

He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. “Number five.” His steel eyes connected with hers again.

“Huh?”

“Number five. ‘Think as a team,’ right?” he said, his voice as soft as the breeze that swept across her face.

After all the tension between them that morning, it was strange to hear him speak to her so intimately. “You’re right. Number five.” She laced her fingers through his left hand. “So, next we are headed to Place Cachée?” Again, she knew the answer, but she wanted to keep up the conversation.

“Yes. I have been there many times, so I’ll Apparate us to a spot just near the entrance to Montmotre,” he said.

He spun them away.

They landed near the bronze statue of a woman sitting on a pedestal. As they climbed a set of stairs and approached, the woman moved her flowing skirt aside, allowing them entrance through the pedestal to the wizarding district, Montmartre. They emerged into a street bustling with hundreds of people. Hermione clutched his arm and smiled as heads turned in their direction. 

The whispers started as Draco led her down the stone street. She wasn’t phased by the attention they were getting, though for the first time since this whole charade began, she received several glares. She didn’t take them personally; she would’ve glared, too. Well, she probably wouldn’t have glared, but she would have been equally as confused and disappointed as the people giving her the dirty looks if she was looking at herself from the outside. 

Their first stop was a Quidditch shop in which Draco and the owner spent a significant amount of time talking details of the game Hermione had no interest in. The following few shop meetings went smoothly until the pair headed back into the street towards the sweets shop, K. Rammelle’s Enchantée. The word must have gotten out that they were in the area because a number of reporters had shown and were clearly searching for them in the streets. 

“Zere! Ze Malfoys!” one of the photographers shouted. 

“Here we go,” Draco muttered under his breath.

Hermione squeezed his hand as they halted in the center of the street and the various reporters and photographers caught up to them. His fingers had warmed under her grip, and she had to keep herself from focusing too much on his firm grip.

“How is ze honeymoon so far?”

“There are rumors that Voldemort seeks to expand his regime into France and neighboring countries in the coming weeks. Can you speak on this?”

“¿Puedes contarnos sobre tu cumpleaños?”

“Is it true zat ze Janviers may face charges for ze attack on you?”

The small crowd all spoke at the same time, but Draco spoke over them. “My new wife and I are having a wonderful time in France,” he said as he slipped his arm across her shoulders. The eager reporters quieted and listened intently as Draco continued in his smooth voice. “The people have been incredibly welcoming and supportive of our union.” He smiled and directly addressed the Spanish reporter. “Mi cumpleaños fue bueno, gracias.” Turning back to everyone, he continued, “Without the implementation of Advancement Decree No. 3 in the U.K., Hermione and I would still be struggling to be together in secret. This Decree was the catalyst that allowed for us to share our relationship with the world. Our only hope is that one day, forbidden lovers everywhere will have the privilege of leaving behind hate and prejudice, no matter where they live.” 

_Lovers._ She knew his word choice was planned and calculated, but it still sent an odd feeling through her when it left his lips. When he had finished, they both smiled and waved as he led her to the next shop. 

The rest of their busy day whirled by, Hermione’s performance on par with Draco’s as they moved through it with increasing ease. When he stepped right, so did she. When he ran a hand down her back, she leaned into his touch. They were in sync.

As daylight turned to dusk, Draco Apparated them to an alley a few blocks from the Eiffel Tower. Since their encounter with the press earlier in the day, the reporters had left, but the photographers found them wherever they ended up. She fully anticipated the feeling of eyes on her as they walked closer to the famous landmark. The feeling nearly unnerved her as she thought of a Voldemort watchdog following them, but she was pulled from her concern by the cotton candy skies behind the tower. She stopped in the grass, taking in the view. 

He stepped closer to her, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Bozo’s here,” he said.

His breath was warm against her neck.

“Skeeter’s photographer?” she breathed back, attempting to match his seductive presentation.

“Yes,” he said.

She nodded and pulled back, smiling up at him for the camera, wherever it was. He slid his hand around her back, just as he had done the night before, and she tried to process what was happening. She was so _present_ now. They had been under a spell before; entranced in its effects. But in this moment, she could really feel his movements, as if they were happening in slow motion. His fingers wound into her hair and he pulled her close to press his lips to hers. Her back arched as she leaned into his body, touching his abdomen as she had before. A flash popped somewhere in the distance.

He relaxed his grip in her hair and pulled his lips away from hers, resting his forehead on hers. 

“That should do,” he said quietly.

She nodded, forcing herself to remember herself and the situation she was in; who she was with.

“That was good,” she said, looking into his eyes. “Good for the paper, I mean.”

He made a little sound of agreement.

“Beautiful,” a voice from a few paces away said.

They both parted and turned towards the sound. A couple around their age was standing in an embrace nearby, meeting each other’s eyes with an electric energy.

“Sweetheart, the moment I first saw your golden eyes, I knew you would be something special to me,” the man said. “Ever since that night at the little bar in Olympia, I knew I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life. You laughed so hard, you spilled your Tequila Sunrise on my favourite jeans.” He nervously laughed as he took his partner’s hand in his and lowered to one knee. 

“Oh, Lawrence!” the woman breathed, pulling her free hand to her mouth.

Hermione couldn’t take her eyes away from the couple. The man held onto the woman’s hand. She held her breath as the scene unfolded before her.

“Gayle, will you marry me?” he said.

The woman cried through a wide smile and accepted his proposal, jumping into his arms as he stood and whirled her around.

“That’s sweet,” Hermione said, turning back to Draco. 

The look in his eyes made his indifference known. 

“Oh, come on, Malfoy. It’s really sweet. Doesn’t it make you…” she considered whether to continue or not, pausing for far too long.

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish.

“Doesn’t it make you sad?” she asked.

“Sad? Why in the bloody hell would-”

“Because we’ll never have that,” she cut in. “We went through a war and now we’re in this mess. We may never get the chance to really have what those people have.” The words stumbled out of their own accord. 

Draco was silent. He kept his eyes on hers, but his expression was blank, yet she could see that something was spinning within his mind. 

“You hadn’t thought of that yet, had you?” she breathed.

His brows slightly furrowed. “Not really.”

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes as they watched the newly engaged couple take photos together with a disposable camera. 

“Can I ask you something?” she said. She was feeling quite bold. Seeing another flicker of real emotion from him reminded Hermione of the wedding reception and the speech he had given. _If it wasn’t for her smile, it was for her wit. If it wasn’t for her wit, it was for her laugh. If it wasn’t for her laugh, it was for her cry. And if it wasn’t for her cry, it was for her heart._ At the time, she had wondered if he had written it himself. She thought maybe he had written it with someone else in mind.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Who inspired your speech at the reception?”

His eyes flickered with surprise. “Who inspired-? What are you asking?”

The heat grew in her cheeks. “Nevermind.”

“No, Granger. What is it you want to know?”

_Bloody hell._ “Was it written with someone in mind? I joked about you thinking of me as Pansy before, but I suspect she’s more of a friend to you. Is there someone else?”

The hand that had stilled on her arm dropped to his side. “That speech was from my father.” 

That was unexpected. 

“He had written it for part of his vows to my mother on their wedding day, but Voldemort found it in a drawer in the Manor and insisted it was the ‘perfect rubbish’ for our narrative,” he said. 

His expression was unreadable, but she knew - just _knew_ \- that it was hard for him; that talking about his mother was painful. She regretted bringing it up.

“So, to answer your first question,” he continued, “it was technically inspired by my mother. And to answer your second question, there isn’t anyone I would have thought of to write something like that.” He paused. “I don’t have a Weasel to give me inspiration.” The corners of his mouth lifted into a smirk.

“If you are referring to _Ron_ and implying that he would be my inspiration in writing about my supposed love for you, that wouldn’t be the case,” she said, an eyebrow raised.

“Is that so? I always thought if it wasn’t Potter, it’d be the Weasel,” Draco laughed.

Hermione’s chest clenched at the mention of Harry, and bringing up Ron didn’t help, either. “Stop calling him that,” she said. She turned her body away from him and tried to remain calm. She closed her eyes and sighed a heavy breath. “Can we go now?”

“Yes,” she heard him say as his hand gripped hers. 

She was pulled along for a few minutes until he spun them away, landing just outside Le Royal Monceau. Neither of them spoke the whole way. She walked alongside him and kept quiet. 

“Are you alright?”

Hermione nodded. “I’m fine,” she said, then walked past him to the kitchen and downed a glass of water. 

After twenty minutes of searching the cabinets for food and only coming up with boxes of chocolate-covered strawberries, heart-shaped lollipops, and a number of other perishable romance-themed sweets, Hermione decided to take a shower. On the way to the washroom, she picked up her bag and passed Draco, who was lying on the bed reading a well-worn book. 

She stopped in the doorway. “I’ll take the couch tonight, so you are fine to sleep there.” She turned before he could answer and snapped the door shut. 

\--

After a much-needed shower, Hermione left the bathroom in her pjs, only to find Draco fast asleep on the bed with the book he had been reading lying open on his chest. She hesitated for a moment, wondering whether or not she should move it, but realized it was ridiculous to teter on the thought. She carefully lifted it off him and set it on the side table. _Nineteen Eighty-Four._ Hermione stopped in her tracks. He was reading _Nineteen Eight-Four._ By George Orwell. A _Muggle_ author. And the book was tattered; it had clearly seen several read-throughs, and had countless dog-eared pages. 

Draco was far more complex than she had thought he was.

She shook her head and fled the room, her mind spinning. Curling up on the couch, she glanced at the grandfather clock. 11:11 p.m. _Make a wish._ Her mind kept spinning as she searched for something to wish for.

“I wish…” she whispered to nobody. She searched for something to say. “I wish…” but she thought for too long. The clock hit 11:12 before she could decide, and she gave up. _Of course._

The following hours passed by without event or any sleep. Hermione rotated between sitting up to read, laying down to watch the clock tick, and closing her eyes to try to sleep, but her insomnia prevailed. As she watched the clock hands hit 2:28 a.m., she heard a mumbling from the bedroom that grew with every minute that passed into intervaled, incoherent yelling. She flung the blanket off her legs and climbed off the couch, shuffling sleepily across the room and under the archway into the bedroom. Draco’s face was pained.

“Malfoy,” she said, but there was no answer. The moaning and mumbling continued, and he jerked and thrashed every few seconds. She repeated herself louder, but again, he didn’t wake, so she walked to the other side and climbed onto the bed, sitting up next to him. She hesitated to touch him, but ultimately placed her hand on his arm. It jerked at her touch, then relaxed against the sheets.

“Hey,” she breathed, “it’s alright.”

Beads of sweat slid down his forehead as he whimpered, mumbling nonsense, though his writhing slowed and minimized. 

She ran her hand up his arm and over his shoulder, and his body calmed. “It’s alright,” she said softly as she touched his cheek with her fingertips. The warmth radiated off of him; his skin was hot, and any feelings of frustration with him from earlier melted at his touch. 

“‘Mione.”

A pounding in her chest hilted at the whisper. She jerked her hand away from his face and breathed for several seconds, unable to stop a hard swallow. When she looked at him again, his face was fully relaxed and he had fallen into a comfortable sleep. No thrashing. No screaming. No mumbling. He was calm, and it calmed her.

She leaned her head back against the headboard and closed her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: December 30, 2020
> 
> Check out the Pinterest board for this chapter: https://www.pinterest.com/QuellerKay/ch-8-team/


	9. Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Hope everyone had a great holiday (if you celebrate)! Here's hoping for a better year for all in 2021! As always, a huge thank you and much love to my alpha, Helene, and my beta, Noodar!

Hermione awoke to an odd crick in her neck. As she opened her eyes and reached her hand up to the source of the pain, she took in her surroundings. She was in the same spot as the morning before. Her head was slightly slumped against the headboard, but she had slept soundly, regardless. A tiny snore and the weight of the mattress beside her told her that Draco had apparently slept well throughout the night, too, after she had come in. 

She carefully slid off the bed so as not to wake him and slipped out of the room. Her mind spun for seemingly the hundredth time in a matter of days. She had actually slept - and well - next to  _ Draco Malfoy  _ for the second night in a row. And he had slept well next to her.  _ That  _ was confusing, and some part of her felt a pang of guilt. She shouldn’t like any part of this; shouldn’t have any positives, especially not with him. 

The thoughts snaked their way through her head for the next half hour. She rushed through the motions of the morning, preparing herself for the day and ordering the same food and drink as the day before. The sound of the bathroom door closing and the start of the shower echoed throughout the suite. 

She stood near the window, gazing out at the morning view and allowing her thoughts to drift off until the lift door opened and the cart rolled out into the sitting room. She gathered her food and coffee, then flipped through the meaningless papers before taking her breakfast back to the table by the window. When a whoosh of black passed in her peripheral, she whipped her head to Draco, who was at the cart facing the other way.

“Good morning,” she said, taking a leap she hadn’t expected of herself.

He turned to her with his coffee in one hand and a few papers in the other. “Morning,” he said. His face was unreadable. He didn’t move for a second as he sipped his drink. He walked over to her and sat in the same spot he had the day before, flicking his wand behind him to summon his food. 

They sat in silence.

She tried to keep her eyes focused on what was in front of her and the view beyond the windowpane; tried to look anywhere but at him. She should have known that her efforts would be futile with the enigma who sat beside her. Her gaze drifted to his fingers, watching them as they moved from soundlessly tapping the table to gripping his mug. She followed them up as he drew the mug to his lips. Her eyes kept trailing upward until they landed on his. He had been watching her, and the heat grew to her cheeks. She tore her eyes away, fiddling with the banana in front of her.

They stayed quiet until their food was gone and their drinks were empty. Draco stood and cleared their dishes away with his magic; she followed as he headed towards the lift. As they left the hotel, they narrowly avoided the wizarazzi by leaving through the back door again. They managed to avoid eye contact the whole way. It was Sunday - time to head back to the château - and she was thankful that there were no outings or meetings for the day.

\--

They arrived back at the château at a quarter to noon and walked together quietly down the path and through the double glass doors. As Hermione passed the sitting room, she kept her eyes trained to the stairs. She wasn’t scared of the room, but she was reminded of the day she first arrived at the Manor and had to pass by the drawing room. She knew full well that this was a normal reaction to trauma, yet she was irked at how it affected her the way it did. She took one last glance at Draco as he turned the corner, vanishing out of sight, and she thought about how well he seemed to manage everything. She wished she could talk to him about how he did so; find out how he kept himself alive in Voldemort’s world when she could easily see the good within him after such a short time together.

She had seen him with his guard down in little flashes over the past week; each one was gone as quickly as it had come. He masked himself well. He was skilled at concealing his pain, but she had seen him falter here and there, ever so briefly, and wondered what else was within him yearning to be discovered. 

She stood there before the stairs, teetering back and forth between whether or not to face the sitting room until she finally turned around and marched back to the door. Pushing it open, she stared into the space. It looked perfect. It looked nothing like it had when Lucius had first pulled her in to face Voldemort. No upturned tables. No shredded curtains. No broken chandelier. She just stood in the doorway staring at the perfectly fine room.

For a few days, she had been able to forget about what had happened in there. But now it was right in front of her, and all the feelings associated with the sight were brought to the forefront of her mind, along with the countless other terrible thoughts that she had tried to push down within her. 

She couldn’t help the streams of tears that fell from her eyes, though she didn’t succumb to the desire to crumble to the floor and bury her head in her hands. Instead, she focused all her energy on calming the storm inside her. She chose a spot on the wall and concentrated. 

A pop behind her had her gasping, slapping a hand to her chest. When she whipped around, she caught sight of Lottie in the hallway.

“Hermione! Lottie didn’t know you were there!” the elf squeaked.

“That’s alright, Lottie,” Hermione said, though it suddenly made sense to her why Draco had snapped at the elf for her appearance during their practice session the previous week. She quickly wiped her hands across her cheeks.

Lottie scurried over, passing Hermione and closing the sitting room door. “This room is not to be used anymore. Mast- Draco had Lottie clean it up after he carried Hermione to her bed.”

Hermione stilled. He did  _ what? _

“Lottie must be getting to the kitchen now!” the elf said, failing to notice Hermione’s clear pause as she scurried off. 

She stood there imagining him holding her close to his chest, carrying her up the stairs and to her room.  _ Surprising. _ Or maybe it wasn’t? Before their first night in Paris, she wouldn’t have believed it, but she had learned that this  _ was _ characteristic of Draco, and she wanted to know more.

Turning around with furrowed brows, she let her legs carry her out the front door and across the grounds as her mind ran amuck. She found herself walking towards the dense woods on the left side of the château. She walked and walked until she was well under the cover of the tall ancient trees, out of view from the windows. The hint of moss and decay only found in wooded areas filled her nose, and she was reminded of the Forest of Dean and her time spent there with not just her parents, but Harry and Ron. 

She tried to clear her head, listening to the sounds of the birds and insects all around. The wind blew through the towering trees above her, and though the sounds were present, there was a muted quality to the atmosphere. 

She ventured off the main path, allowing herself to meander. But as quickly as her thoughts had left Draco, they landed back on him as she wondered if he had ever just wandered through woods like this. Then again, she didn’t think he was much of the wandering type. 

She stopped. Something about the spot she had stumbled upon felt peaceful. Maybe it was the way the light was filtering through the trees; the way all the sounds just fell off to the side, but she felt oddly calm. She sat down, leaning her back against an ancient tree. Looking up, she admired the way the branches twisted with each other, and saw something shiny that didn’t belong there. It was a snitch tangled in the branches. 

So much for clearing her head. 

As she sat there, she gave in and let Draco take over her thoughts. The image of him flying through the air in the late hours of the night and early hours of the morning ran through her mind. She let go and let herself think about him in a way she hadn’t consciously done before. Her mind wandered to the night of his birthday; to his hands running over her body, to his lips connecting to hers, to waking up next to him. 

After the draining days that somehow made a week feel like a month, her time in the woods was cathartic. When the daylight faded, Hermione picked herself up and started off the way she had come. But before she got too far, the silver snitch flashed through her mind. She turned back and headed towards the tree it was stuck in. 

Using a few notches in the tree trunk and a sturdy branch, she lifted herself up and stretched her arm just high enough to push the little item. She hopped to the ground. As the snitch fell, its wings fluttered until it hovered directly in front of her, displaying a beautifully etched  _ M _ in its center. 

Hermione buried it in her pocket and ran back to the château just before the sun had completely set. 

\--

The next morning couldn’t come any sooner. Hermione stared at the clock as it hit ten past three. She was lying in bed, fiddling with the snitch she had found, waiting for her day to start. She wanted to have some kind of social interaction; the last four hours had been riddled with bouts of reading, pacing, staring at the wall, and miserable attempts at sleeping. 

She couldn’t take it any longer. With a swish, she flung the covers aside, hid the snitch under her pillow, and headed out the door in the argyle sweats and t-shirt she’d slept in for too many nights. In a matter of minutes, she had made her way down to the foyer. Down the hall and past a second set of stairs, Hermione found a long hallway. This part of the house wasn’t as lavish as the rest; it was the elves’ hall. The old faded floorboards creaked under her feet as she walked. At the end of the corridor was an archway leading to a spiral staircase. She descended into the basement and emerged into a spacious kitchen with a large range cooker.  _ Perfect. _

There were exactly two things she thought to look for. Red wine. And chocolate.

In the third cabinet she searched, there was an old bottle of petit verdot. She found a stemmed glass in a nearby pantry and a tub of vanilla ice cream with chocolate chunks. It would have to do. She set everything up on the center island. Popping the cork out of the bottle took longer than she would have liked, but with a few twists of a knife, she got it. For a quarter of an hour, Hermione sipped the smooth drink and picked at the ice cream, eating all the chocolate bits she could find. 

“Helping ourselves now, are we?” 

The deep voice was recognizable in an instant. She didn’t even turn around.

“Oh, yes,” she cooed, savouring another bite of the cold dessert.

“Care to share?” Draco said as he rounded the corner of the table and leaned against the counter across from her.

Hermione saw him staring at the pajamas she was wearing, then he met her eyes. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t frowning or scowling, either. She slid the tub across the stainless steel, but his eyes flickered to the bottle by her elbow. He moved swiftly as he pulled his wand from his pocket and flicked it, summoning another glass. She switched the tub with the wine and pushed the bottle across to him, her arm jerking with pain at the strained movement. 

He lifted his chin, gesturing to her shoulder. “Still feeling the Crucio?” 

“A bit,” she said. 

For several moments, they were quiet, sipping away at the wine.

“You said you’ve built up a high tolerance…” She took a sip of her drink and risked a glance at him over the rim. Her statement was more of an invitation.  _ Tell me more. _

He shrugged. “I did say that. And I have.” 

Hermione lowered her glass to the table, openly staring at him. “How?” she asked, her voice small.

He shrugged again, refusing to meet her gaze. “Learned to focus on something else.” 

“On what?” She couldn’t stop herself. 

He glanced at her then, and her cheeks felt warm. It was too personal of a question.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“My mother,” he said. 

She swallowed and nodded. “Anything else?”

“Flying,” he said. “Something that’s…” 

“Happy,” Hermione finished for him. She picked up her glass, took a sip, and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter. “Can you cast a Patronus?” she asked. If he had memories strong enough to block out a Crucio, it stood to reason those same memories could be used to create a Patronus. 

“A Death Eater can’t produce a Patronus.”

The sound of him admitting aloud what he was sent a shiver up her spine. She quickly shoved it aside. 

“But have you tried? I think you could, if you wanted to,” she said, trying to take casual bites of the ice cream. “Mine’s an otter.” 

“An otter? Really?” He snorted. 

“Well, I assume yours would be a ferret, so you can’t talk,” she said playfully.

He scoffed, feigning offense. “You and I both know it would be a dragon. A big one.” He smiled, and Hermione couldn’t miss the little bite of his lip. 

They stayed silent for several long minutes, both working on their drinks. Hermione’s thoughts were a jumbled mess as she kept glancing at the man across from her. He was being civil, and with everything she had learned from him in just a short amount of time, she was struck with the possibilities ahead of her. If they could have a decent relationship, she could manage everything better; maybe even learn Occlumency from him in time. Maybe she could figure out how to find Hagrid or get in contact with the Order. She could strategize how to get to Nagini; how to  _ kill _ Nagini. Voldemort would be mortal then. And it occurred to her just how important this interaction was; how significant it was that they had this time alone again. Completely alone together. 

She hadn’t used her time with him in Paris wisely. She hadn’t realized then that maybe the situation in which she was meant to be imprisoned was the exact situation she could weaponize in her favour. In the Order’s favour. Hell, even in  _ Draco’s _ favour.

She considered her next words carefully. “You carried me,” she said, meeting his gaze. 

“What?” He was clearly taken aback, though a moment later he tore his eyes away to look down into his glass. 

“You carried me. After what Voldemort did. Lottie told me. You carried me from the sitting room-”

“And?” he said.

“And…well, I was just a bit surprised to hear that,” she said, smiling at him.

He scoffed.

“What?” she said.

_ “Surprised.” _ He shook his head. “Do you really think I would have just left you there on the floor?” 

She summoned her best Draco smirk. “I suppose not. But just so you know,  _ I _ would have had to leave  _ you _ on the floor. I’m not strong enough to carry you.” 

“That’s obvious,” he said. “Would you have at least thrown a blanket over me?” He was smirking at her over his glass. 

She heaved a big sigh. “Oh, I don’t know, all the blankets look  _ so _ expensive, I’m sure your father would have my head if I let them touch the floor.” 

Draco laughed through his sip of wine; the corners of Hermione’s mouth lifting into a smile at the sight. 

“I have to say,” she started. “This hasn’t been  _ that _ bad.” 

His face fell into a stoney expression.

_ Shit. _ Maybe that wasn’t the right direction to go in.

“We’re in the middle of a war,” he said.

“I  _ know  _ that. I’m just saying…well…it could be worse.”

“How so?” he murmured, examining his glass. 

“This,” she gestured between the two of them. “It isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. You aren’t who you used to be.”

“Yeah, well…” his voice trailed off. “You’re right, Hermione,” he finally said. “I’m not who I used to be.” He shrugged casually and continued to drink.

The energy was tense between them, though it wasn’t unpleasant. He had used her first name, which, by the flicker of something in his expression, he seemed to realize after the fact.

After a few minutes, he reached out, stealing her spoon, and took a large bite of ice cream.

She tried to take the spoon back, but he was too quick for her. In seconds, he had his wine glass in one hand, and the tub with the spoon inside in the other. He stepped away from the island and leaned back on the edge of the counter, grinning. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, heaved a big sigh, and climbed up and across the counter. 

Draco looked startled. “And just what are you doing?” he demanded.

“What does it look like? Going over to your side so I can have more ice cream before it melts.” She swung her legs over the edge closest to him, reaching out to grab the tub. He held it high above his head.

“Hold on, hold on, stop being greedy.” He put his wine glass down, pulled out his wand, and tapped the container.  _ “Glacius. _ There. Now it won’t melt.” He passed the ice cream back to Hermione.

She ate a large spoonful and passed it back to Draco before she turned to get her glass. It was almost empty. 

Draco must have noticed. “There’s got to be another one of these around here,” he said. He flicked his wand and muttered a summoning charm. A second bottle flew from the depths of a cabinet straight into his hand. He reached up to grab a corkscrew that was hanging on the wall beside him. He opened the bottle, then stepped forward to pour more into her glass. 

She hadn’t really had a chance to look at his face up close before. There were tiny little silver lines that went across his forehead, down his cheek, and disappeared lower down into the collar of his shirt.

“Are those scars?” she asked.

“Are what scars?” He raised his eyebrows at her. With her sitting on the counter, she was at almost his exact height. She hesitated, but either the wine or the Gryffindor in her made her reach up and trace the scars with her finger. He froze under her touch, only stepping back after she dropped her hand. 

“That would be from a lovely little curse I was hit with back in sixth year.” He took a long pull from his glass, refilling it after he was done. 

It took a second for Hermione to realize he was being careful not to say the inflictor’s name.  _ Harry’s _ name. 

“Sectusempra,” she said quietly. 

Draco nodded. 

“I was livid with him for doing that, you know,” she said. 

He raised an eyebrow at her. 

“I know you were about to use Crucio, so don’t think I’m on your side,” she said, pointing her finger at him. “But Harry used a curse he had never heard of before. He had no idea what the effects of it were. All we knew was that it was ‘for enemies.’ He never should have used it on you.”

“I was a bit of an enemy to Potter,” he said.

She was trying not to let the thought of Harry affect her. She could tell that he was trying to keep his voice light and playful, but he clearly knew that this was hard for her. He was watching her closely when she grimaced back. 

He was quiet; didn’t say a word for many long moments. “You lost your best friend,” he finally said, looking down into his glass. 

Her breath hitched at his words. It was just so odd hearing anything that resembled empathy from this man.

“I can’t imagine,” he said.

“Can’t you?” she asked. “I was there when you lost Crabbe.”

“Crabbe was a good childhood friend.” He downed the rest of this drink. “But he and Goyle…two lunks who wouldn’t know one end of a broomstick from another.” He slid down the counter to sit on the floor and filled his glass even more. “You - the three of you - you shone, you know? You liked each other. You had fun. I envied the friendship you three had.”

“You  _ envied _ us? No way,” she said in disbelief, hopping off the counter and sliding down to the floor across from him. He filled her drink again, too. 

A smile cracked on his features, and she matched it. They were quiet for a long time, both lost in their thoughts. 

“You want to know something?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.” She smirked. “Do you know what happened to  _ Umbitch _ when Harry and I led her out of the castle?”

He sat up straighter, looking intrigued. “Do tell.”

“I led her into the Forbidden Forest. The centaurs showed up and dragged her away when she insulted them.” She held her smirk and sipped her wine.

He shook his head slowly and slid the tub of ice cream across the floor to her. “Alright, you deserve to eat the rest of the chocolate bits.”

She laughed as she picked up the tub and started searching through for the bits with the spoon.

“Umbitch was awful. But I’ll tell you, the Carrows were worse,” Draco said. “So much worse.”

“Tell me.”  _ Open up to me. Tell me about Occlumency. Teach me Occlumency. Tell me everything. Teach me everything.  _ The thoughts came of their own accord. She swallowed. The wine was getting to her.

Draco shifted a bit on the floor. “You know they made us use Crucio on the younger students?” 

Hermione nodded.

“Crabbe and Goyle loved it. They were finally good at something.” He got quiet and looked as though he was in great thought. “After my…mission…in sixth year, I just couldn’t do it. I actually…I made sure all the younger students knew to fake it when I pointed my wand at them.” 

Hermione’s jaw slackened. 

“They knew what it felt like by then. They were rather good. No one suspected I wasn’t doing it. Only Blaise knew. He couldn’t do it either.” He shifted on the floor again, looking over at her. 

She was speechless. She never before would have thought that Draco Malfoy wouldn’t jump at the chance to use an Unforgivable.  _ Especially _ on helpless first years. When had he changed? “Draco, that’s-”

“Your turn,” he interrupted. “Tell me more about whatever it was  _ The Golden Trio  _ was up to last year.”

“Okay. Well…” She had to think carefully about what to say. She assumed he didn’t know about the Horcruxes, and she thought it was best to keep it that way. For now, at least. “We were…researching,” she said. “About how to…win the war.”

Silence.

“Didn’t find what you needed, then,” he said. 

“Well, we did.” She watched him closely. “But there was still a…missing piece.”

“I’m assuming this has something to do with that diadem Potter found in the Room of Hidden Things.”

She hesitated with a response, but found nothing to say. Something in her expression must have told him to change the subject.

“How did you end up at the Manor?”

“Snatchers,” she said.

“Well, I know that.” He set his glass on the floor beside him and scooted closer. “It’s not hard to imagine how your friends got caught, but how did Hermione Granger - the Brightest Witch of Our Age - get caught by snatchers?”

Her stomach knotted and she held her breath at the way he minimized the space between them; at how he referred to her. “Harry accidentally triggered the Taboo on Voldemort’s name. I told him several times  _ not _ to say it.” She shook her head, moving past the memories of Harry again. “I want to thank you, for what you did at the Manor.”

He stared at her incredulously. “Thank-  _ thank me? _ For what? I did absolutely nothing while you were being tortured.  _ Why _ would you thank me?” 

“You didn’t give us away. They asked you, point-blank, if you knew us, and you said you couldn’t be sure. That counts. We needed every second that omission gave us. I don’t think we would have made it out alive if you hadn’t stalled for us.” She took a sip of her wine. “Why did you do that?”

Draco took a slow bite of the ice cream, then handed it back to her. “I couldn’t be the one to send you to your deaths. I knew what it would mean to say that yes, you were you, and that he was Potter. I just…” He sighed. “I don’t want you thinking it was a deliberate choice that I made. It wasn’t. It was a gut reaction. I didn’t want to watch you die. I didn’t want to be the one to kill you.” He took a long pull of his wine. “I think he would have made me do it,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. He looked at her then. “I think he would have told me to point my wand at you and…and kill you.” 

His face looked just as it had when she saw him break down on the balcony back at the Manor. 

Up until that point, she had felt pleasantly buzzed, but she now felt stone-cold sober. Without any hesitation, she scooted closer to be beside him on his left, closing the distance even more. She placed her hand on his thigh. 

“You can’t know that, Draco. Maybe he wouldn’t have.” They were spilling so much to each other, as if they had each downed a full bottle of Veritaserum before finding each other there in the kitchen in the middle of the night. 

He covered her hand with his, wrapping his fingers around hers. He squeezed and shook his head slightly. “No, he would have been delighted in having me do it,” he said. 

Hermione reached up to his face and took it in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “No. I don’t believe that you would have. You didn’t do it to Dumbledore.”

He gave her a weak smile and she dropped her hands. She looked down as they both went quiet. They sat there breathing for a few moments until she reached her hand out to his left forearm. He flinched, and she could tell it was instinctual. His Dark Mark was covered by the long sleeves of his jumper.

“Sorry,” she said.

He shook his head. “If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.”

“Don’t say that. You didn’t really have a choice, did you?”

He scooted back against the cabinets and she followed suit. There was distance between them again.

“There’s always a choice,” he said. “It’s just…sometimes it’s not so black and white. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do to get what you want. I’d say I’m pretty good at that.” 

She understood that.

There was a long silence. They kept drinking until they had finished two and a half bottles of wine. She watched him look around the room. 

He reached across the floor and picked up a mangled cork, holding it up for her to see the damage she’d done. “And what happened here?”

“I didn’t know there was a corkscrew!” she said indignantly. She rolled her eyes when she saw the playful judgment in his expression and mumbled a  _ whatever _ into her glass as she downed the rest of her drink.

The minutes ticked on, and Hermione’s thoughts stumbled to the nights they had spent together in Paris when in the early hours of the morning, they had somehow crossed boundaries she had never expected she would cross with Draco Malfoy. Yet, she never expected to get drunk on a kitchen floor and connect with him, either, and there they were. 

Hermione was in the middle of a bite of ice cream when Draco leaned over and grabbed her spoon out of her hand.

“Hey!” she said.

He shoved as much as he could in his mouth. “Mmm.”

She scowled back at him, but froze when he started licking the drips down the side of the spoon.

“This is so good,” he cooed.

All she could do was swallow as she watched the scene in front of her unfold. She was reminded of the club on his birthday; brought back to the moments under the effects of the Lovebomb. Heat rose to her cheeks.

Draco’s dramatic show subdued when he noticed her silent reaction to what he was doing. He was still leaning in close to her.

Hermione’s heart raced. He didn’t move for a beat; just looked at her in her embarrassment, and a concerning thought occurred to her that he could have been reading her mind. She tore her eyes away, calculating the possible skill level he could have in Legilimency.

She stared down until her view of her lap was obstructed by the spoon covered in a giant heap of ice cream. She looked up again and saw Draco’s face. His expression was serious, but his eyes were full of anticipation. He was holding the scoop to her, offering it; waiting for her to take it, and the tension was there, undeniable.

Holding his gaze, she bent down and wrapped her lips around the head of the spoon. Draco’s eyes flashed as she swallowed the dessert and sucked the spoon nearly clean, slowly pulling away until he was left holding it in the air. He held it up, turned it towards him, and put it in his mouth. 

_ What  _ was happening.

A warm pulse jolted through her body, starting at a low spot within her. She shifted where she sat, leaning a little closer to him. He slid the spoon between his lips, and hers parted unconsciously. They gravitated closer together again. The spoon turning towards her, she opened more, allowing him to slide it back into her mouth. She pressed her lips closed, then reached up with her hand. Grabbing for the end of it, her fingers wrapped over his.

At the connection, there was a commotion outside the door and down the hall. They jolted apart and jumped up as quickly as they could. 

She glanced at the clock. It was half past six. 

Draco whipped his wand out and vanished all evidence that they were there. He moved faster than she could keep track. He summoned a vial and downed whatever was in it, then vanished the glass and grasped her arm. 

She was spun away with him in an instant and landed in her room, stumbling on the spot. She immediately felt nauseous; like she wanted to throw up. 

He held onto her, but moved her to the bed a little too fast.

“I’m sorry- I have to-” he got out.

“Go,” she said.

He was gone a second later.

The world still felt like it was spinning around her. She laid back and heaved a big sigh, closing her eyes. There was a knock at her door a moment later, and Lottie entered.

“Draco sent Lottie to give this to you.” Lottie ran to her and held out a vial.

“What is it?” 

“Dreamless Sleep Potion.”

_ Thank God. _

\--

Hermione was thankful to have finally slept for more than an hour. By the time she got up, it was a quarter past noon.

When she arrived downstairs, Lottie was waiting for her. “Did you sleep alright, Hermione?” the elf asked.

“Yes, thank you, Lottie. Is Draco up?”

Lottie’s expression fell. “Oh, he was called away.”

“Called away? Do you know where? How long will he be gone?” Why would he be called away while on this honeymoon? 

Lottie’s eyes grew wide. “Lottie is not knowing!” she said. 

“That’s alright, Lottie. It’s not your fault,” Hermione said, smiling down at her. “Are the afternoon meetings canceled for today then?”

“Yes,” the elf squeaked. “Hermione is to stay at the château.”

Lottie scurried off after Hermione thanked her. 

Hermione couldn’t think of anything other than her time with Draco in the early hours of the morning. She couldn’t believe that he hadn’t actually used the Cruciatus Curse on the first years; that he had been jealous of her friendship with Harry and Ron, and that he didn’t want to see them die at the Manor. All those years at Hogwarts, he had seemed to live up to his father’s expectations. She had easily projected her idea of who he was onto him even as he had changed into a better man. She could see that side of him now; the man who had failed to kill Dumbledore. The man she was forced to marry wasn’t so bad after all. 

\--

She ventured to the kitchen when her stomach rumbled later that evening. As she descended the spiral staircase leading to the kitchen at the end of the hall on the first floor, five elves came into view. 

At the sight of her, the little elves’ eyes grew wide, and they bustled over to her. “Mistress Hermione!” they cooed in near unison. 

“Oh! Hello,” she said, startled to find so many elves there.

Her eyes flickered around the room, but there was no evidence of her time with Draco in there. 

Lottie pushed her way to the front of the group. “Hermione! What can Lottie get for you?”

“I was just looking for something to eat, but I can get it, really,” she said. She was internally conflicted, as usual, when interacting with elves. While she knew they were more than happy - even excited - to wait on her, she was still so uncomfortable with them doing so. 

The expression on Lottie’s face was clear at her response: she was offended.

“Or-” Hermione quickly started again, “well…now that I see you’re all here, I would love to have something you put together!” 

A grin spread across Lottie’s face, and the other elves started scurrying around, eager to prepare something for her. Lottie took Hermione’s hand and spun, landing with her in a long dining room, a space she hadn’t yet seen. 

“Sit, sit,” the elf said, gesturing to a chair at the head of the table. 

Hermione took the seat and thanked Lottie before she popped away. She examined the room around her. The elegance of the decor matched the rest of the château. Behind her, a cloak hung on the back of the chair. She twisted, picking it up to look at it properly.  It was Draco’s. There was no doubt about it; she just knew by the smell of it: cedarwood, cinnamon, and honey.  As she took it in her hands, there was a crinkle of parchment in one of the pockets. Her hand whipped straight to the sound, hoping whatever it was would provide her with some kind of information; anything. 

The parchment was wrinkled and had been folded multiple times. When she opened it, the words flowed in a tight, hasty scroll she didn’t recognize.

_ You know that would not have been possible and it isn’t an option anymore. You must forget about it and do as you are told. Eyes are on you now more than ever. As I have said before, you cannot come looking for me. I am safe, and that is all I want for you.  _

Hermione’s heart dropped in her chest. The note was from Draco’s mother. He was in contact with her? The anger immediately hit her. Why hadn’t he said anything about this? How could they have talked about  _ so _ much, yet he failed to mention that he was in contact with his  _ captive _ mother? She wanted to hear from Hagrid. She wanted to be able to communicate with him; wanted to know that he was still alive. That she wasn’t doing all of this for nothing.

She replaced the note in its pocket and carefully positioned the cloak back on the chair so it looked as close to untouched as possible. She faced forward and sat there seething until Lottie and another elf appeared holding a tray filled with impeccably set food and drink. 

“Thank you, Lottie, and…” she gave the other elf an inquiring look.

“Sinsey,” the elf said, eyes impossibly wider than usual.

“Sinsey,” Hermione repeated with a smile. “Hey, Lottie,” she started hesitantly. The other elf popped away, leaving the two alone. “Do you happen to know where Narcissa is?”

Lottie looked visibly ill. “Lottie is not to say where Mistress is staying. Mistress was hit with a nerve-stiffening spell and needs more time to recover.” 

Either the elves were being lied to or were meant to lie about Narcissa’s whereabouts. Either way, Hermione wasn’t going to press the poor elf on the matter. She would have to get it out of Draco. She nodded at Lottie and thanked her before the elf Disapparated. 

Hermione looked at the tray in front of her and felt as though she had lost her appetite.  Taking it with her, she returned to her room and relished in the silence that overtook the space throughout the rest of the evening and into the night.

\--

The following day was much of the same for Hermione, though she had decided to venture out into the forest further than before. In the late afternoon, she went on a run. Lottie had brought her some trainers, a sleeveless top, and shorts she could use, so she set off into the trees. 

The exercise was exactly what she needed. She worked up a good sweat, which was something she hadn’t been able to do in weeks. The sun beamed down on her through the slots between the branches above her. The tree canopies provided the perfect amount of shade to cool her off, even as the sun began to set. By the time she returned back to the forest entrance, she was calmer than she had been the night before. 

Emerging into the acres of perfectly manicured grass, Hermione wiped her forehead and slowed to a walk. Standing at the side entrance to the château was a tall man in black robes, his nearly white hair glowing yellow in the light of the sunset. He stood there, leaning against the doorframe and watching her as she made her way to him. 

“I thought you had run off,” he called out.

She scoffed to herself. “If anyone ran off, it was you,” she yelled back.

“Fair point. But mine wasn’t voluntary,” he said, lowering his voice as she approached.

“Ah, so you were summoned?”

“Didn’t Lottie tell you?”

“She said you had found your people. Something about you joining a magical circus?” Hermione said, smirking. She contemplated whether or not to bring up the letter, but she wanted to wait until the right time. 

“Come on, Granger, with that hair of yours, the only one joining a circus is you,” he said, entering the château as she followed him inside. 

She laughed aloud.

Draco stopped in the center of the foyer. For a long minute, they stood there, each declining to speak, though Hermione noticed the flick of his eyes over her body. She was showing a bit more skin than usual, but that didn’t make her wish she was covered up more in the moment. 

“So…what happened? Where were you sent?” she asked. 

Draco’s throat bobbed at her question. She knew he probably wouldn’t tell her, but she wanted to know. 

“The Canadian reporter won’t be a problem anymore,” he said seriously. His voice was quiet and refined. 

Hermione’s breath caught as she realised what he was saying. “Did you-” She couldn’t finish asking, and she thought she likely wouldn’t want to know the answer.

“No. But I was there,” he said. 

Hermione tore her eyes away from his and nodded her head. “I’m going to go shower,” she said, and rushed away up the stairs, leaving him behind. 

For the rest of the night, she stayed in her room thinking. Too much thinking.  _ Always _ too much thinking. About Draco. And motivations. And communication. And as usual, she barely slept. 

\--

Hermione reluctantly made her way to the foyer at 7:01 a.m. They stood on opposite sides of the area with their backs against the walls. She decidedly fixed her eyes anywhere but on Draco, determined to drown him out as he spoke. 

“Hermione, I need you to be with me on this,” he said.

At the sound of her first name, she snapped her eyes to his, keeping her expression blank.

“The French ambassador will be here in a few hours, so we need to be on the same page. She had to change her whole schedule around to visit today instead of yesterday. This needs to go well,” he said, the urgency strong in his voice. 

“I know. It will.” Hermione looked back down at the new schedule in front of her outlining the day’s events through the end of the week. She scanned the words, keeping her eyes busy, though she wasn’t truly reading anything. 

Less than a minute later, a hand wrapped around her forearm, tugging on her, urging her to move closer. She obliged, closing the space between them, and her mind swirled through everything she had thought and felt over the last few days. The look in his eyes told her he was doing the same, which she hadn’t expected at all. 

In that moment, the energy felt too real. It was undeniable. He slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her close, running the fingers of his other hand through her hair. Lowering his head, he met his temple with hers and held her there for a moment. A moment that felt longer than a moment; that felt like a thousand moments wrapped into one confusing, comfortable, butterfly-inducing moment. Then, it was gone, as fleeting as it had come. 

“Good,” he said, pulling away. “You were right before. Practice helps.” He turned around and walked to the nearest wall, crossing his ankles and leaning against the brick. 

She stared at him as he examined the papers before him as if nothing had just happened. Nothing _did_ happen, she supposed. It was _practice._ She let her legs carry her to the opposite wall from him. She mirrored his movements, casually leaning against the wall and looking down at her papers as if nothing had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: January 13, 2020
> 
> Pinterest board for this chapter: https://www.pinterest.com/QuellerKay/ch-9-talk-quelling-the-quill/


	10. Roles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I have absolutely loved reading the comments! It's great as a new writer to get thoughts, feedback, and predictions. Keep 'em coming! Hope you like this update! And as always, thank you to my alpha, Helene, and my beta, Noodar :)

Draco sifted through the papers before him, skimming the pages, though he couldn't register the words. He just needed to keep his head down; to avert his eyes after another intimate moment with her. They were getting too close. They had shared a bed; had talked for hours in the kitchen. And just then, as he had held her…

They were just getting too close. _He_ was getting too close.

He had found himself thinking about her when he was gone. In his defense, he had to find something to distract him from the horror of the mission. As he stood there watching the Cruciatus rip through the Canadian reporter at the hands of his uncle, Rodolphus, he had to disconnect. And the only way he could do so was to replay several scenes from the kitchen over and over again as the man screamed and writhed on the floor. _She crawled across the counter._

When the Killing Curse hit the reporter, Bella - who had been cackling as she danced around the room - snapped at Draco to move the body. _She held his face in her hands._

He had swallowed and held his stony expression as he did as he was told. _She lit up as she laughed._

He hadn't let himself consider why he had thought about her, or why thinking about her had helped, and he wouldn't let himself go there. He looked down at the words on the parchment before him, forcing himself to process their meaning and prepare for the big meeting.

He let the minutes tick by without a word shared between the two of them. In his peripheral vision, he saw the movement of her hand as it reached up to her hair to tuck it behind her ear. _Ugh._

"I'm really meant to do this?" Hermione asked, pulling him back to reality. She had been noticeably cold to him since he had mentioned the Canadian reporter, and this question was coated in an icy tone he didn't like. It wasn't his fault that he was called away. He didn't choose any of this either.

He met her eyes and returned the attitude. "I am sure you can be more specific than that."

The purse of her lips couldn't go unnoticed as she read from her schedule. " _Malfoy._ Am I really meant to walk the grounds no more or less than two feet behind you and Ambassador Moreau holding a tray of assorted hors d'oeuvres?" she said.

" _Granger._ Surely in all your reading throughout the years, you have learned _something_ about the traditional duties of a pure-blood wife," he responded, matching his tone to hers.

"This is just demeaning!" she said indignantly, holding up the pages of instructions. "You cannot possibly tell me this is the norm; that your mother has done these things-"

He cut her off and stood, too, closing the distance between them a bit. "I don't care what you think about the work you have to do. You will do what you are told." His voice was sharp and stern. He could tell immediately that his harsh words had sliced through any lingering energy between them, but he didn't care. He wouldn't accept any comment about his mother, no matter how much he knew she lacked malice in her remark.

"Oh, will I?" she said. Her eyebrows and voice raised simultaneously. Folding her arms, she straightened and stepped closer to him.

" _Yes,_ you will," he said through clenched teeth as he closed the final remaining distance.

They were inches apart, both breathing heavily. His eyes darted back and forth between hers, and at the same moment, there was a change in their tension; right back to how it had been when he held her only minutes before. He watched her brow unfurrow at the same time that he relaxed his own. Her cheeks went pink, and she lowered her gaze to his lips, which parted of their own accord.

Hermione whipped around and stormed towards the staircase.

He wouldn't have stopped them. He would have thrown every bit of negativity between them from the last few minutes clear out the door and kissed her right there. He would have shoved her up against the wall of the château and picked up right where they had left off on the night of his birthday. But she was more controlled than him.

His eyes followed her as she started to ascend the stairs, but they darted up to her face when she stopped and turned to face him. "I found the note from your mother."

He swallowed. _Of course Hermione Granger would go snooping._

"Why didn't you tell me the other night that you were in contact with her?"

He stepped closer to her. "You went through my things?"

"I said I _found_ it. I didn't mean to." She backed away, up the first step.

He tried to find words, but nothing came out. She wouldn't understand that it had only been one message. He couldn't explain everything just then. At his silence, she turned and ran up the stairs.

"Wait-" he started, but she was gone.

He turned on the spot and landed in his room. " _Fuck."_ This woman was driving him crazy: in more ways than one. He whipped out his wand and slashed it through the air, hurling his favourite smashing object against the wall.

All he could think about was the last time he had done that. He had hurt Hermione, and that was the last thing he wanted invading his mind. He sat down and shifted on the floor so his back was flush with the bedframe and his head leaned back against the mattress.

The other night had gone so well. They had really connected and actually had _fun;_ something he hadn't experienced in a long time, nor did he think he would ever experience with Hermione Granger.

He sat there for a while, running through everything that had happened.

Glancing at the clock, he saw there was only twenty minutes until the meeting with Ambassador Moreau. He ran his hands over his face and picked himself up off the floor. It took half the time left to prepare himself properly. He downed his last Pepper-Up Potion, ran his head under water in the sink, and muttered a number of spells to fix his hair and straighten his robes. With a pop, he Apparated to the foyer.

He paced, watching the clock hands as the slower one moved closer and closer to the ten.

"Lottie!" he called, and the elf appeared in front of him in an instant.

"Yes, sir!"

"Find-" He closed his eyes and steadied a heavy sigh. " _Please_ find Hermione and tell her she cannot miss this meeting."

"Right away!" she squeaked.

Hermione glided down the stairs just before Lottie popped away. She kept her chin high and her eyes fixed on anything but him.

"Oh, good, you're here," Lottie said to Hermione, "and you look lovely! Doesn't she look perfect?" the elf said with a wide grin and even wider eyes.

He swallowed.

Lottie failed to notice the look on his face or the tension between the two. Instead, she jumped excitedly at the sight of the Ambassador at the Apparition point through the windows. "Oh, she's here!" She guided Hermione closer to him, nearly pushing her into his side, then ran for the door. As she opened it and bowed, she gestured with her hand for them to move outside.

Hermione hastily linked their arms together. He glanced at her and caught the same fake smile plastered on her face as he had seen several times. He led the way out the door and summoned every bit of strength he had to match her skillful level of deceitfulness. He thought briefly that she would've done well in Slytherin.

"Ambassador Moreau! Lovely to see you," he greeted, taking her hand and kissing it politely when they met on the pathway.

"Likewise, likewise," she said. She was perfectly prim and poised, as a proper pure-blood woman was raised to be.

Hermione bowed her head to the woman and dropped slightly into a clumsy curtsy.

"Thank you again for agreeing to a change in schedule, Ambassador." He walked with the women slowly along the path back to the entrance. "I knew when I took the job that working for Lord Voldemort would be demanding. But, I have to believe that sacrifice is one of the most valuable weapons against evil. It's something bigger than yourself, as you know, being someone in your position."

"Oh, you do flatter me too much," the Ambassador said. She beamed at him as he led the way into the château.

Hermione was last in, closing the door behind her.

As he walked with the Ambassador along the ground floor to the formal dining room, he kept up the small talk. They completely avoided the sitting room, which he explained away with the excuse of renovations.

He was very aware that Hermione remained at a close distance behind him and the Ambassador the whole way. She was staying quiet, yet polite, just as she was instructed to do according to the schedule.

Each of their meetings were carefully planned and tailored to appeal to the preferences of the people they were meeting with. Some people were more inclined to accept Hermione, as well as their relationship, without any hesitation. Others, however, were supportive overall of the mission, but weren't as keen on the idea of interacting with her in person. Ambassador Moreau fell in the latter category. And for that reason, Hermione wasn't given any leeway room. She was meant to be a quiet, polite, well-mannered host.

Although he didn't want to admit it to her, she had been right about his mother. He recalled many luncheons, meetings, and even large parties when his mother played her role well. She had often stayed quiet. She was always polite. And she was the most well-mannered host. This wasn't how she was meant to be in _every_ situation, but a pure-blood wife's role was often strict. It was an expected aspect of most gatherings, which he had increasingly become more uncomfortable with over the years. Yes, he believed in upholding valuable traditions within a family unit, but the restrictions expected of a wife within his father's circle had become more and more extreme with the rise of Voldemort. His mother was a strong, independent woman, so to see her conform to such expectations before she was taken was harrowing. The very fact that she was taken angered him in part because of the idea that she could be used in that manner without thought.

When he really thought about it, Hermione was a bit like his mother. She, too, was strong and independent. And he could easily see how the expectations of her in this situation would be hard to deal with. But regardless, she had to deal with things the way they were. He had to. What did she expect? For someone to coddle her? For _him_ to coddle her? _Not bloody likely._ Nobody had helped him through any of it. Nobody had held his hand. And he certainly wouldn't hold hers, metaphorically speaking.

Ambassador Moreau was detailing her trip to Venice when they entered the dining room. Draco pulled a chair out for her, then used his wand to pull one out for Hermione directly across from the Ambassador. He took his chair at the head of the table, on the back of which was the cloak he hadn't had time to grab before leaving for the mission.

"An underwater gondola ride? Ambassador Spataro is really upping his game in the tourism department," he said. The conversation was nothing he was remotely interested in, but it was admittedly better than a mission. He knew things with Hermione were by no means perfect, but he would happily take a day with her over another mission. But, he also knew that was wishful thinking. He knew he wasn't safe. He _knew_ things could change any moment; that he could meet his end at any time under the world Voldemort had created.

A beautiful display of silverware and place settings appeared on the table before them, along with coffee, juice, and a salmon entré. After a quick toast, they started in on brunch.

Draco continued the conversation with the Ambassador until he heard a coughing fit from his left. Hermione had gone slightly red and looked as if she were about to faint.

"I apologize, Ambassador," she breathed, clutching her chest. "If you will excuse me." She stood and made a quick exit, the coughing sounds resuming from the hallway.

"My, my, poor thing," the Ambassador said, though she didn't pause in her eating or look up from her plate.

Draco stood. "Sorry, but if you don't mind, I am going to see if she's alright."

The woman glanced up at him and smiled. "Of course," she said.

He followed the path out the door and to the stairs, catching up with Hermione in moments.

"Feigning illness to get out of this meeting, are we?" he said quietly.

Hermione turned around, and when he saw her, he knew immediately that she wasn't feigning anything. She was still coughing, turning red, and looked as though she had walked into a sauna.

"Lottie," she said. She didn't even look at him or try to respond.

"'Mione, I'm sor-"

The elf popped up next to her and immediately started tending to her. The two of them Disapparated and he was left near the bottom of the staircase. She would be fine. She was well taken care of, and he couldn't leave the Ambassador waiting for too long. He hurried back down the hall and returned to the dining room, his mind focused on Hermione.

"I do apologize for that, Ambassador. The elves must have forgotten an allergy of hers, but she is being tended to now. We shouldn't let this ruin our time together." He smiled and took his seat once again, banishing Hermione's plate with a swish of his wand.

Ambassador Moreau looked at him with curiosity for several beats, then continued eating. The rest of the meal went well despite the situation. Afterwards, he led the Ambassador along the grounds outside, discussing the vision going forward in France and the surrounding countries in Europe under Voldemort's leadership. He couldn't help his glances at the window to Hermione's room.

"Mr. Malfoy, do forgive me for asking, but is there something going on with you and…your wife? I noticed there was some tension earlier-"

"No," he said almost too quickly, but he reined it in. "Well, yes, I see why there would seem to be something off. Unfortunately, I am not completely free of my duties just because I am married now." He chuckled. "I was called away the other day for a quick security check. She worries every time I am gone. It's very sweet, but I am and will always be dedicated to my work. She knows that."

The Ambassador nodded her head and abandoned the subject, admiring the growth of the hedges since the last time she had visited. Her mentions of his mother and questions of her well-being stung. He deflected and lied as perfectly as ever. And though he could easily shove his feelings deep down, he still felt them at first occurrence.

By the time he walked the Ambassador to the Apparition point, he couldn't wait to be alone in his room. He bid her farewell and thanked her for the support she showed on behalf of Lord Voldemort. She assured him that she would see him in France again soon.

Draco Apparated to his room the moment the Ambassador was gone. There was still plenty of daylight outside, but he didn't care. He strode the length of the room straight to his nightstand and searched it for another Dreamless Sleep Potion. He knew his searching was futile; he had given his last one to Hermione that morning. But he hoped there might have been one more he had missed.

There wasn't.

He huffed and threw himself face down on his bed. He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep, but he just couldn't. For hours, he laid awake wishing he wasn't. He tossed and turned, pulled the covers on, kicked them off, got up to eat dinner, read the rest of a book… At some point, he finally dozed off.

Draco awoke to pitch darkness. He felt fully rested, though he still had a pit in his stomach. He and Hermione had several full days planned together in public. They had lunches, store visits, and meetings all scheduled together before returning to the Manor on Sunday. They needed to talk before all of that; get back on the same page. Plus, he needed to find out if she was okay. She had looked genuinely sick earlier, and he had only heard from Lottie when she had brought him dinner that Hermione was doing well. He thought it right to check for himself.

He pulled himself out of bed and started for the door, but he stopped himself. He turned back and headed into the bathroom to shower. Standing before the mirror afterwards, he fiddled with his hair, trying to get it to look more purposefully messy. After ten minutes, he cursed at himself for what he was doing and left it alone, heading out of his room and down the stairs.

The foyer was dark and quiet.

He had planned to go to Hermione's room; knock on the door and see if she was awake. But now that he was actually doing it, his heart pounded in his ears. _Just do it,_ he told himself. He walked forward a few paces towards the stairs leading to her wing, but he paused. _Stop stopping and go. Merlin, you're annoying._ The inner dialogue with himself was wilder than it had ever been. He had never been this way before. No one had ever infuriated _and_ intrigued him at the same time like this, and to be so affected by it was stupid. He was _Draco bloody Malfoy._

He marched himself up the stairs, but walked quietly down the hall to her door. The light was on. He had expected that; thought she might be reading because he knew full-well that she couldn't sleep. He stood there, staring at the lines of the door.

There was nothing he could tell her yet about the letter from his mother. It just wasn't safe; not for anyone he cared about. It wasn't like he was in constant communication with her. He had sent her a letter through their house else, Trotter, the day she was taken, and she was able to send one back. But she was moved to a different location that evening and ever since then, none of the elves could say where she had gone. He kept the note close to him in the pocket of his cloak. Of _course_ he would be so careless to leave it lying around when he was called away.

His breathing was heavy.

This wasn't right. He wanted to talk to her, but it wasn't the right time. And it wasn't in the right way. He would talk to her in the morning; make an effort to clear the air before their departure for the day.

He turned around and reluctantly headed back the way he had come, stopping in the foyer. The sitting room doors were closed. He wasn't particularly bothered by rooms where bad things had happened anymore. If that were the case, he wouldn't be able to set foot in the Manor at all. But he knew Hermione wouldn't want to set foot in that room again. He knew she would never want to go in the drawing room at the Manor, either. It was, admittedly, his least favourite room, particularly because of the man who occupied it most of the time.

Wavering a bit on what to do, Draco started for the front entrance, but decided against it. He had a different idea. He turned around and passed his staircase, walking down a long hallway. The floorboards creaked under his feet. He descended the spiral staircase at the end of the corridor and emerged into the kitchen.

It was spotless. There was no sign that they had been there nights prior. He knew that's how it would be; that's how he had intended it to be. But still…

He summoned a bottle of Firewhiskey from the pantry and Apparated to the formal dining room. On the chair at the head of the table was the cloak that he knew held his mother's letter. He retrieved it and vanished the cloak to his room, then took his seat. For a while, he sat there taking swigs of the drink, feeling the burn of the liquid run down his throat.

Before the night with Hermione, he hadn't really been drunk more than a few times. The last time had been the night after the Battle of Hogwarts. There had been a huge party at the Manor, and everyone on their side showed up.

**Six Weeks Prior - Malfoy Manor**

"Harry Potter is dead!" Bellatrix bellowed.

The sea of people that occupied his house hooted, hollered, whistled, and raised their glasses. It was a madhouse. He had never seen the place so full of life; terrible, deranged life.

"Cheers," a voice behind him said.

He turned around to see Blaise holding his glass up to him.

"Cheers," Draco said back, and he clinked his glass to his friend's.

"Well, what are you going to do now?" Blaise asked.

Draco lowered his drink. "Haven't you heard? There's already talk of a complete restructuring of everything. Voldemort knows he can't go much further beyond the United Kingdom if he doesn't frame this whole victory right. We're not done yet, Blaise. This war isn't over."

Blaise lowered his voice, too, and stepped closer to Draco. He glanced around. "Look, I want to talk to you about something. Not here, though. We should go to your room."

Draco huffed a laugh, meeting his low volume. "I know I'm incredibly attractive, but we play for different teams, mate." He took a swig of his Firewhiskey.

Blaise punched him in the arm lightly, causing Draco's alcohol to spill on the floor.

"Hey, hey, I'm only joking! I know what you meant. Let's go." Draco led the way through the crowd.

"Oi! Malfoy! Zabini! Over here!" Cassius Warrington called out to them from the bottom of the grand staircase. He was standing in a group with older Slytherins: Marcus Flint, Lucian Bole, Peregrine Derrick, Adrian Pucey, Miles Bletchley, and Graham Montague.

Blaise let out a quiet groan beside him as they made their way over.

"Join us, men. We're about to play a game," Warrington said.

"What game?" Blaise asked.

Warrington clapped Blaise on the back. "Come and find out." He walked into the drawing room, followed by the others.

In the cold and dimly lit room, they all took seats around a long table. Warrington summoned large bottles of Firewhiskey and spaced them out across the center.

"Alright, boys. Veritaserum or Imperio," Flint said with a wicked grin. "Whoever's _it_ chooses one of the options." He placed a cologne-sized glass jar on the table. "Veritaserum," he looked around the group and pulled out his wand, "or Imperio. Simple enough."

"You're not suggesting you can actually cast an Imperio, are you, Flint?" Draco drawled.

Flint sneered and the others howled with laughter.

"I say you're up first, man," Warrington said to Flint, whose nostrils flared.

Draco sat across and two seats to the left of Flint. Blaise was to his right and Pucey was on his other side. He had never been very close to Pucey, though they had been on the Quidditch team together. The man was a bit more quiet and reserved. Flint, on the other hand, was a loud-mouth. Draco was perfectly happy watching him make a fool out of himself.

Flint took a dramatic swig. "Let's do this," he said. He gestured at Warrington, who sat at the head of the table on the other side of Blaise. "Imperio me." He tried, but failed, to look confident.

Warrington leaned over to confer with Bletchley on what to make him do. After a moment, Warrington nodded and pointed his wand at Flint. "Imperio."

Flint stood from his chair and jumped up on the table. The room filled with laughter as he started dancing around the bottles of Firewhiskey. He twirled on his tip-toes. He arabesqued, plied, releved, and pirouetted back and forth across the table.

Warrington released him from the curse as the men hooted and hollered at Flint's final moves.

Draco smirked as he downed half his glass of Firewhiskey in one go.

"Where were those moves at the Yule Ball, Marcus?" Montague sniggered.

Flint sneered back at him. As he was the last person to go, he was the one to choose who was next and deliver the question or Imperio.

"Blaise."

Draco watched the glint in Flint's eyes as he saw the man consider the power he had.

Blaise reached for the bottle of Veritaserum and twisted the top off, pulling out a dropper filled with the liquid. He released a single drop on his tongue.

"Tell us about your best shag."

A knot formed in the pit of Draco's stomach and his eye twitched.

"And you have to tell us who she was," Flint added.

The knot uncoiled. _She._

Blaise sat up straight and flashed a wicked smile. "It was in the prefects' bathroom sixth year," he said.

"You weren't even a prefect," Montague said.

"No, but Parkinson was," Blaise smirked. "It started off with head, then we ended up against the-"

Draco made an exaggerated gagging sound. "You need to stop. That is basically my sister you're talking about."

"Come on, mate, he was just getting to the good part!" Pucey said.

Another person laughed into their drink.

Draco glanced to his right to see Blaise fidgeting with the silver ring on his pointer finger as he scanned the group.

"Start without me?" Theo Nott said.

Draco's eyes snapped to Theo as he strolled into the room and took a seat beside Flint. He was thankful there was another man he could at least _somewhat_ trust there.

"Perfect timing. It's your turn," Blaise said.

Theo grimaced. "Alright. Surprise me."

Blaise thought for a moment. "Well, since you're late to the party, you can finish off this bottle of Firewhiskey." He pointed his wand directly at Theo. "Imperio."

The men around the table groaned their disgust and laughed as Theo downed the drink with a pained expression. When he was done and released from the curse, he looked sick.

Draco could tell Theo was holding down bile, though he managed to keep it together.

They went around the table for half an hour, and Draco was thankful he hadn't been chosen yet. He had been steadily drinking through the bottle of Firewhiskey in front of him when Bletchley fixed his eyes on him.

"Malfoy," Bletchley said.

Draco raised an eyebrow in anticipation. He had been trained well in Occlumency by his aunt, so he was confident in his ability to fight off the Veritaserum. The Imperio, not so much.

He let the clear, water-like liquid drop on his tongue.

"If you could have Avada'd one of The Golden Trio swots, who would have been your pick? Potter, the Weasel, or the Mudblood?" Bletchley asked with a nasty grin. He sat across from Draco, watching him as he leaned back in his chair.

The room filled with the others' opinions.

"That's an easy choice. Of course he'd kill Potter."

"Yeah, Potter."

"Would love to watch the Mudblood keel over."

Draco was suddenly aware of how little Firewhiskey was left on the table. He focused on the forest in his mind, honing-in on several trees with _Potter, Weasley,_ and _Granger_ carved into the trunks. They were thin trees, but they were there in his mind, nonetheless. Weasley's was the thinnest. He covered the trees in snow, just as he had practiced, using the cold, white substance to layer over the branches. It was a thin layer this time, but it would be enough to block the Veritaserum, despite the Firewhiskey's inebriating effects.

"The blood-traitor," he stated.

Derrick laughed and gulped down his drink, releasing an obnoxious sigh. The others voiced their agreements.

"What do you think they're doing now?" Pucey asked the group.

"Who?" someone said.

"Potter's people. They could be planning to attack us here as we speak."

Warrington scoffed. "Not likely. They don't have enough-"

"This place is better warded than Hogwarts ever was," Draco cut in. His voice was clipped and resolute. "And anyways, Potter's supporters are of no concern to us. _Especially_ the blood traitor and the Mudblood."

In the wee hours of the morning, the last of the party attendees trickled out of the Manor. His father had kicked the boys out of the drawing room at some point to clear it for Voldemort. Draco had been able to steer Blaise down the hall to the rear staircase, though they stumbled a bit as they walked.

"Fuck Warrington. Fuck Flint. Fuck all of those bastards," Blaise said as they clumsily ascended the stairs.

"Theo's not that bad." Draco was dragging his fingers along the wall on his way up.

"Theo only cares about himself."

"You're only mad because of what happened between you two." Draco led Blaise down the hallway to his room once they reached the second floor. "I saw it coming from a mile away. He wasn't looking for a long-term thing, and you wanted something more. That shit never ends well."

"He shouldn't have led me on and he knew that," Blaise said.

"I know." Draco stopped before the door to his room and turned to his friend. "But you've found someone better." He had never liked talking about any of this; relationships, feelings, _sex._ It wasn't because Blaise was gay, or that Theo was up for anything he could get from anybody. It was just improper to discuss. But Blaise always brought it up when he was drunk.

"Come in for a few?" Blaise asked, gesturing towards the door to the right of Draco's bedroom. "I still have something I want to discuss with you."

"It's nearly daylight. Can it wait?"

"No." Blaise opened the door leading to Draco's spare bedroom. His parents had set it up when he was a child as his playroom. He used to read in it and play Gobstones with his friends. They would play hide-and-seek, using the closet to access his main bedroom.

"Alright," Draco said. He followed Blaise in and closed the door, taking a seat in the armchair by the window. "What is it?"

**Present Day**

Draco ventured back to his room once he was drunk enough to fall asleep.

He awoke to a pounding at his door. "A Floo call for you, sir," Lottie yelled through the door.

Draco groaned and pulled himself out of bed. He ran his hand over his face and yawned. Waving his wand a few times, he readied himself for the day and Apparated to the fireplace to find his father's head sticking up through the flames.

"Fath-"

"Come home straight away, Draco. There are reports of an Order base in Brussels. You are to leave with a team at sundown." Lucius didn't wait for his son's reply.

Draco watched the fire settle as his heart raced. _Shit._ He had expected another mission soon, but not as soon as that evening.

"Lottie!" he yelled, and the elf appeared before him.

"Yes, sir!"

"Inform Hermione that we need to leave at once," he said.

The elf nodded and disappeared.

He shook his head and willed himself to be alert and mentally prepared for what was to come. His mind flitted through his memories of the past few days, shoving them under mounds of snow that he could keep hidden against a Legilimens.

He quickly made his way through the doors of the sitting room over to an armoire in the far corner that he knew held a number of potions and antidotes. His father had said there should at least be a vial of Draught of Peace and Volubilis Potion, but it had largely been cleared out before his arrival with Hermione. Though he had meant to check it days ago, he consistently had other things on his mind, and had pushed it off.

When the doors to the armoire clicked open, Draco was knocked to the ground by something that tumbled out of it. He scooted backwards and scrambled to his feet, but froze at the sight before him.

Narcissa Malfoy's cloudy blue eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. Lying in a cold, lifeless heap before him was his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: January 24, 2021
> 
> Check out the Pinterest board for this chapter: https://www.pinterest.com/QuellerKay/ch-10-roles-quelling-the-quill/


	11. Look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Posting earlier than usual this time because, as most of you may know, I posted the wrong posting date last time! I'm now doing my student teaching, so I'm trying to keep it all together but damn, teaching high schoolers online is SOMETHING, I tell you. Regardless, I'm having fun and loving the work. Thanks so much to my alpha, Helene, and GOOD LUCK to my beta, Noodar, on her finals! Hope you all like the chapter!

The riff with Draco had certainly not been expected. They had connected so well, but after finding out he could communicate with his mother, she was too frustrated with him not to voice her objections to the demeaning nature of the expectations of her for the meeting. Although having a lasting coughing fit was awful, the silver lining was that she was able to miss the rest of the stupid meeting, and thankfully didn't have to spend much time with the Ambassador.

She had recovered well, thanks to Lottie, who was incredibly apologetic about the kitchen elves using pineapples in the salmon sauce. She had assured the elf that it was alright, but the poor thing insisted that the elves at fault would be properly punished, despite Hermione's protests. Hermione lay awake for hours worrying about the elves, but she finally fell asleep. Lottie returned in the morning, knocking on her door to explain that she and Draco had to leave immediately. She had looked at the clock. 5:13 a.m.

The sinking feeling was unavoidable. They weren't supposed to return to the Manor until Sunday. It was only Thursday morning, so that had to mean that something had gone wrong. She fought back the worst-case scenarios that popped into her head as she gathered the few things she had and headed down the stairs.

When she got to the foyer, she heard a thump and saw that the doors to the sitting room were open. Her heart raced as the fear filled within her. She quietly walked to the door and glanced inside, expecting to see a snake-like man with a wicked grin. Instead, what she saw was unbelievable. Draco stood far across the room staring down at his mother, who was sprawled out on the floor looking impossibly paler than she already was.

"Draco," she breathed.

He didn't respond. He didn't move. He just stood there looking almost as pale as his mother.

She inched closer, taking in the full scene and calculating what had happened. As she neared, it clicked.

Without hesitation, she ran in front of Draco, and the dead Narcissa morphed into a dead Ron. Hermione sucked in a breath, but pushed aside the reaction; she knew what to expect. "Riddikulus!" She said it with every bit of conviction and confidence she could muster, pointing her finger directly at the boggart. It morphed once more, but before she could see what it was, she sent it back into the armoire and closed the doors.

She stood there breathing heavily. There had been quite a few times she had successfully used wandless magic, but never in such a dire situation. When she turned around to face Draco, she saw that he hadn't moved an inch. He just stared blankly at the empty space where the boggart had laid as his mother. His hands were clenched by his sides.

"Draco," she breathed again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, releasing a shaky breath.

She didn't know what to do; didn't know what to say. Her arms moved of their own accord. With shaky fingers that matched his breathing patterns, she cupped his cheeks and stepped into him.

"It's okay," she whispered.

His eyes squeezed shut even tighter, and she watched him intently as he tried to hold onto any ounce of control. The pain in his features was more visible than she had ever seen before.

"Draco, it's okay. It was just a boggart," she said as silent tears fell from his eyes and landed on her fingers. Sliding her hands behind his neck, she pulled his head down next to hers, and he crumbled into her. His vulnerability vibrated through her chest as he heaved quiet, heavy sobs, and the quiver of his body made her tighten her grip around him. She pressed her hand into the back of his head, holding him against her; telling him through her touch that he was safe with her.

He squeezed back; his fingers curling against the fabric of her jumper.

The air in the room was tight and concealed, and there were no other sounds than the fading ones that came from Draco. He was calming down; collecting himself with slowing breaths.

Hermione held onto him. She didn't want to let him go; didn't want to feel him pull away. As he did so, she dropped her arms, and he ran his hands down them. He grasped her hands, leaning his forehead against hers.

They stood there, their breaths mingling.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She nodded against him.

"Hermione? Draco?"

They both pulled apart and snapped their heads to the sound.

Lottie rushed into the room. "Oh, apologies!" she said, her cheeks turning red. "It's time to go."

Hermione glanced to Draco as he gave Lottie a curt nod and made his way towards the door.

She followed him, studying his face out of the corner of her eye. He was building his mask again. The creases of his pain and worry smoothed with every step he took. He didn't look around or over at her at all; just walked straight to the Apparition point and spun away the second she wrapped her hand around his arm.

They landed outside the gates of the Manor. Hermione trailed Draco as he swiftly made his way down the long hedge-lined path. His fists were still clenched at his sides as he silently walked along. She tried to say something, but couldn't find any words. Before they reached the front doors, she grasped his hand and squeezed, letting go in an instant. He glanced at her as she followed him through the foyer into the main hall. The doors to her left were open, but she didn't dare look inside. She could hear the countless people from within the drawing room yelling and arguing.

She braced herself for what was about to happen, unintentionally holding her breath.

"Good, Draco, you're here." His father appeared in the doorway and gestured for his son to follow him inside the drawing room, closing the door behind him.

Just like that, she was alone. They had left her there in the empty space with only the marble below her shoes and the elegant grand staircase before her. The sudden silence was eerie. Maybe she was meant to wait for Draco to return? Or someone else would come out and bark at her to get to her room? As she stood there, frozen in place, the events of the last hour caught up with her and her breathing accelerated. The sight of Ron lying lifeless on the floor for even the briefest of moments flashed before her eyes. She pulled breaths in through her nose and released them out of her mouth, shutting her eyes as the image crashed down on her.

 _Breathe, breathe._ She tried to keep it together; to remind herself that it was only a boggart.

She snapped her eyes open and sucked in a breath when it hit her that she couldn't have a panic attack just outside the drawing room. She had to get away. Moving her feet as fast as she could, she started off down the hall, past the staircase, and off to the right. She didn't know where she was going, but she kept on walking, passing doors left and right as she heaved heavy breaths. She moved in a haze, finding herself pushing through a large oak door. When it clicked behind her, Hermione's knees buckled, and she dropped to the floor.

 _Ron's alive. He's safe._ Ron was safe. The Weasleys were safe. McGonagall and Kingsley and Neville and the rest of the fighters were safe. And as long as she kept doing her part, Hagrid would be safe, too.

She could imagine how Draco had felt seeing his mother lying dead before him. He had believed for several moments that she was truly dead before Hermione banished the creature back into the cabinet. All frustration at him that had lingered from their rift was gone. She wanted to comfort him; for him to comfort her. He was the only source of security she had in this new life she was thrust into. And with him, she was safe.

With Draco behind the doors of the drawing room, he might as well have been a thousand miles away. He was among the ranks of Death Eaters and Voldemort. He was shut down, masked up, and Occluded. He was probably being sent off on a mission as she stood there, and she didn't know if she would see him again.

It didn't help to think like that. She took deep breaths again, telling herself she needed to find her way to her room. She shouldn't have gone past the staircase, but she had moved in such a blur that she wasn't exactly sure how to get back. It had been weeks since she had been there, and it wasn't like she had been given a tour of the Manor.

Hermione picked herself up off the floor, which was carpeted in deep grey tones and abstract patterns. She was in the Malfoy library. This was a good distraction.

The room was more than half the size of the ballroom, complete with several center chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling above the second floor, which was open in the middle. Two spiral staircases were opposite each other leading up to the second floor. It was everything she had thought it would be and more. She stepped further inside, calming herself down with the smell of oil lamps, leather sofas, and ink.

There had to be thousands of books lining the shelves. Near a long table in the center of the room was a post that reached the ceiling with hundreds of little box drawers surrounding its four sides: a card catalog. For several minutes, she walked the length of the bottom floor of the library. Many of the books had cracked spines and their letters were peeling. She tsked at the sight of the books closest to the tall windows; they were faded in colour from the years of sunlight. When she came upon the spiral staircase, she started up, admiring the intricate gold details along the railing.

The top floor was filled with more books, and there was even a nook with an armchair and little round table. As she surveyed the area, a section on dark arts caught her eye. She got closer and skimmed the titles. _Mudbloods and How to Spot Them_ by Barrett Fay, _Your Best Avada_ by Ragnar Rutherfend, _The Unforgivables_ by Dorothea Bulstrode. There were a few she recognized such as _Magick Moste Evile_ by Godelot and _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ by Owle Bullock. She rolled her eyes.

Two rows down, she spotted _Being Wandless_ by Marie Meza. Perfect. That was exactly the book she needed. If she had to navigate this world without her wand, she would do everything she could to control her magic without it. She had successfully dealt with the boggart, but she wanted to be absolutely prepared for anything that came her way. As she reached for the book, the door on the lower floor flew open, and she froze. Her heart raced as she slowly hid herself behind the nearest bookshelf.

 _"This_ is your time, Draco." Lucius's lowered voice carried throughout the room. "You may very well have just returned from your _vacation,_ but you will do well to remember what is at stake in this mission. The Malfoy name carries weight. You will have the opportunity to take charge and be a leader, and you must not fade into the background. Men will listen to you. They will respect you. But, you will need to show them that you are worth being respected."

Hermione carefully peered around the bookshelf, through the railing and over the edge of the second level. Lucius's back was towards her, and Draco faced his father. She could see his cold, stoic expression; his mask was set in place.

"Why is it we are sending a team to Brussels when we know the Order's main base is in England?"

"It is _not_ your place to question the strategy of your Lord and the leaders that outrank you. You will…"

As Lucius spoke, Hermione watched Draco intently. His nostrils flared at the lecture his father was giving him, and he looked around as if he was uninterested. Lucius didn't seem to notice. As Draco inclined his head her way, she could see the realization in his face. He knew she was there. He mumbled a response to his father, but the man kept on talking.

Draco's eyes finally caught hers. There was an immediate flash in his stormy gaze.

She stilled at their connection, waiting with bated breath to see if he would give her up. He didn't. He simply met her eyes for a few fleeting moments, then looked back to his father.

Hermione whipped her head back, hiding herself behind the bookshelf fully until she heard the door open and close again. They had left, and she let out a relieved sigh. She waited a few moments before standing and searching for a door on the second floor. There was one in the far corner. She made her way quickly through it and peered her head out into the hall. The coast was clear. She ran to her room and shut the door, sliding down to sit and lean against it. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to calm herself when her door pushed against her. She startled and jumped up.

Lottie burst through the door. "There you are, Hermione!" She had an expression of pure relief. "Lottie's been looking for you all over the Manor!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione said, offering the exhausted elf a warm smile. "I took another way up…through the library, actually."

Lottie clutched her chest. "Mistress Hermione! Lottie is happy you did not touch any of the books!"

"Why?"

"They are protected against you."

Hermione felt her cheeks redden. "Oh."

Lottie snapped her finger and a tray of food and tea popped into her hands. She brightened, trying to change the mood smoothly. "Lunch for you, Hermione! Master Lucius told me to bring you food and drink while Draco is gone." The elf's brief attempt at cheeriness faded a bit as it set in what that meant for Hermione.

"I understand, Lottie. Thank you." She smiled again at the elf and took the tray.

"And…I have to…lock the door…" Lottie trailed off. "But I'll be back as soon as I'm allowed!"

Hermione nodded as her smile dropped.

The little elf grimaced and disappeared.

The sound of the lock rang in her ears like the echo of a gunshot.

\--

Hermione picked at the dinner Lottie had brought, glancing out the window to Draco's balcony as she searched for things to keep her occupied. She thought of the little squeeze of his hand…the brief look in the library…

As the sunlight faded and the day turned to night, she curled up on the armchair, all she could see was the silhouette of the trees.

Her eyes started to drift closed until Draco's balcony flooded with light. Her eyes snapped open. He was in his room. She was wide awake, leaning to the right to get a better look into his room. Through their windows, she could see him as he rushed back and forth several times; once completely shirtless and again donning billowing black robes. _Death Eater robes._ She straightened back against her chair, staying out of sight, and a moment later, his room went dark again. He was gone. And she wasn't sure when or _if_ he would return.

She didn't allow herself to panic again. She sipped her tea, though it had gone cold. As she stared into the ever-growing darkness of the grounds, her own reflection in the window became more apparent. She studied herself; this woman bound to Draco Malfoy in ways she had never imagined. They were tied together, but the forces were pulling them apart. She hoped the string wouldn't snap. Her eyes reflected hope…fear…determination…dread… She looked away, closing her eyes, and drifted off into a troubled sleep.

_The trees whooshed past her as she ran through a thick forest, looking over her shoulder every few paces until she stumbled and fell to her hands. As she picked herself up, she saw what she had tripped on. Ron's eyes were still and glassy as he laid as cold as ever on the forest floor. His name ripped from her throat, and though she had landed right next to him, he seemed to get farther and farther from her reach. Through her tears, she could see more bodies lying around her. One by one, she passed her friends and family. She screamed their names; screamed and screamed, but she was completely alone._

_"This is how it must be."_

_The cold, crisp voice sounded behind her. She whipped around to see Narcissa Malfoy standing in a clearing. Her hair was pulled back perfectly; robes clean and smoothed over her figure._

_"No!" The word left Hermione as merely a whisper, though she said it with all her might._

_She was standing on a balcony overlooking the Paris skyline. The city was bright and full of life in the evening hours. Somewhere behind her were the voices of her parents, calling her for dinner, but she couldn't move. She tried to turn and run to them, but all she saw was the beauty of the Paris night._

_The drawing room floor was icy on her back, even through her long white robes. Above her hung a large black chandelier, and the room around her was just as dark. A warm hand wrapped around hers. She turned her head to see Draco lying next to her, smiling. His eyes held a fiery look she had only seen from him a few times._

_She stood in a library with two spiral staircases. Before her were three books. As she reached for one, she was hit with a curse that ripped through her entire body. Wild red eyes and a slitted nose appeared in front of her. The pain subsided until she heard the creature's curse again._

_"Crucio."_

\--

Hermione had awoken during the night sweating with a terrible crick in her neck. She had shuffled over to the bed, but didn't manage to get much more sleep, knowing any sleep would include an odd, terrifying mixture of dreams. By morning, she was up, determined to make use out of her day, despite being locked in the bedroom.

After doing a number of exercises around the small space, she showered and put on fresh clothes to await Lottie's arrival with breakfast. When the elf finally showed up outside her door, she asked if she could have the recent _Daily Prophets_ and any other reading material she could access.

The day passed on slowly, and although Lottie brought lunch and dinner, she had not left anything for her to read. The next two days passed by in the same manner. She exercised, showered, looked out the window, and dealt with the wild dreams and insomnia. Wednesday morning, Lottie appeared outside her door with a tray as she had before. This time, however, she brought a single newspaper.

Hermione was thrilled to finally get some kind of news; insight into what was going on. Even if Skeeter and the other journalists spun the truth as they usually did, she could read between the lines to infer _something._ When Lottie left, Hermione settled into the armchair with her tea and flipped open the front page.

**DEFENSE ENFORCERS CLOSE-IN ON DARK WIZARDS IN BELGIUM**

> The Intelligence division of the Department of Defense Enforcers have learned of a growing base of dark wizards in the capitol of Belgium. Saturday evening, Defense Enforcers were sent to Brussels in an attempt to locate the base and dismantle it as soon as possible. Lord Voldemort has been increasingly concerned about the lack of action from the International Confederation of Wizards. Close aides to our Lord have shared that he is intent on taking action against any and all dangerous organizations such as the Order of the Phoenix. The lack of action and blatant disregard for the promotion of a secure, unified new world represents the absolute failure of the international wizarding community.
> 
> There is hope, however, in the strength of the D.D.E. This reporter has learned that the leader of the Brussels mission is none other than our favourite Defence Enforcer, Draco Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy returned early from his honeymoon with new wife and strong supporter of Lord Voldemort's efforts, Hermione Malfoy (formerly Granger). Mrs. Malfoy is reportedly concerned about her new husband's safety, but is proud of the work he is doing for the greater good.

Hermione scanned the rest of the article and shut the paper in a huff. She knew that Skeeter's articles were a load of bollocks, but it still frustrated her to read the lies. There was nothing in the article about which Order members were in Brussels; nothing substantive about Draco.

Over the next few days, as she was stuck in her room, she ran through the same routines, trying to stay sane as she anticipated every new article. When would she learn about the capture of one of her friends? The death of someone she loved? And what if it was at the hands of Draco? What would she feel then?

Hermione tried to piece together what was going on with every news update. It was all she could do to stop from breaking down. The stress over the unlimited possibility of horrors that could befall the people she cared about weighed on her. Thankfully, the elf had brought her a quill, an inkpot, and parchment so she could track any information she could gather from the papers.

When Saturday came around - a whole week after returning to the Manor - there had still been no news of where Draco was or when he would be back. The _Prophet_ only reported that the D.D.E.'s efforts were "going smoothly" and that teams were being dispatched throughout northern Europe.

On Monday, Skeeter reported that there were events popping up around London and the surrounding areas in honor of Voldemort and the D.D.E. People were taking to the streets with banners and gatherings outpouring love and gratitude. The news was chilling.

Photos of the events slowly showed more and more people gathering as the days went on. The propaganda against the Order was ramping up beyond the _Prophet._ Everyday people wrote-in to report sightings of the so-called "dark" witches and wizards. Kingsley, McGonagall, and Arthur Weasley held the top three spots of the Undesirable list. The _Quibbler_ was considered contraband; the _Prophet_ urged readers to report it if found.

It was all so harrowing to read; scary to watch unfold. But nonetheless, Hermione tracked it all on her parchment. There was nothing else to do; nowhere to go. So for days, just as she had done in her tent, writing out potential plans and routes, she wrote out what she thought Voldemort had the Death Eaters doing.

The following Saturday, Hermione was awoken to a knock at her door earlier than usual. It had been over two weeks since her return to the Manor and she hadn't left her room once since she had entered it after her visit to the library. Lottie had brought her food, drink, and papers on a set schedule throughout the day. She was the only living being Hermione had seen in weeks. Even looking outside to the path leading to the entrance of the Manor, she had never caught anyone on their way in or out.

She sluggishly pulled herself out of bed and shuffled towards the door, feeling the effects of the terrible sleep mixed with persistent insomnia.

"Sleeping in, I see," Lucius drawled as he entered and looked her over. She couldn't miss the look of full disgust in his face at the sight of her in Draco's argyle pajamas.

The heat rose to Hermione's cheeks. "Well, there isn't much else to do around here." She tried to ignore all the conclusions she assumed he was making.

Lucius swiftly stepped past her and glided to the closet door. She had tried to open it on her first day back, but it was locked as it had been when she first arrived at the Manor. He opened the door with his wand and ushered her inside.

"You are meeting with Rita Skeeter at nine," he said, flicking his wand to summon various clothing items.

"For what purpose?" she questioned. Her tone was defiant, though she knew it was futile to fight back against anything in her current situation.

 _"Do not question me,"_ he sneered. "You will meet with her and you will smile through it."

She seethed, but kept quiet as he displayed tight, above-the-knee dresses with crisp shoulders and low-cut necklines, each with an attached cape of the same colour. They were far too sexy for her taste. She watched Lucius as he looked over the options, and she internally laughed at the position he was in. Lucius Malfoy was stuck picking out her attire. She only slightly relished the fact, but the thought of spending any time with Rita Skeeter soured the moment.

"This one," he said, sending the others back to their spots. "I will retrieve you in thirty minutes." He strode out of the closet, stopping just outside the doorway to turn back and wave his wand directly at her.

 _Ugh._ Without needing a mirror, she knew that he had put her in heavy makeup and pulled her hair tightly into a weaved updo.

He smirked and as he strode out of the room, Lottie entered with breakfast. The elf gave her an apologetic look before leaving.

Hermione slipped on the emerald green dress, running through the possible reasons for meeting with Skeeter. Maybe she would be paraded around at an event? Or maybe something had happened with the Order? _Oh, God._ Maybe something had happened to Draco. Her heartbeat sped up as her mind spun down a rabbit hole of terrible possibilities. She took deep breaths, forcing herself to scarf down a piece of toast.

\--

She followed Lucius out of her room, along the hallways, down the grand staircase, and to the doorway of the Manor.

Hermione was finally able to breathe in the fresh air. She was thankful to see something other than the walls of her room and the same view of the Manor grounds; thankful to feel even the slightest breeze. It was wonderful, but all bliss faded when Rita Skeeter appeared beyond the gates. The horrible woman wore a smug grin and carried herself with unearned pride as she entered the grounds and approached.

"Finally getting some fresh air, I see," Skeeter mocked.

Hermione bit her tongue and focused on the blue sky behind the woman's head.

"Now, now, Rita. Play nicely," Lucius drawled.

"Is that what you told your son to do with her?" she cooed. "Seems he's been playing a bit too nicely." She sent a nasty wink Hermione's way as she passed her and entered the Manor.

"Do save your suggestive remarks for the papers," Lucius said in a bored tone. "I had a lovely breakfast and would hate to spoil it." He led the way to the Floo and held a bowl of powder out for them.

As she stepped inside the fireplace, Skeeter gripped her wrist and pulled her next to her. "Ministry of Magic," she called out, and they swirled away with the green flames.

Skeeter released her wrist as they emerged from the Floo in the Ministry Atrium. It looked just as it had the last time she had been there, but there were even more people filling the space. Skeeter placed a hand on her back to push her along.

"It's Hermione Malfoy!"

She heard several variations of this called out from around the hall as Skeeter led her towards the nearest lift. The massive translucent banners bearing the moving portrait of Voldemort still hung around the space.

"Miss." A little girl no older than five ran up to her and tugged on the hem of her dress.

A genuine smile filled Hermione's face. "Hi there." She bent down so she could be eye-level with the girl.

"Are you gonna get the bad guys?"

A chill ran down Hermione's spine. She swallowed, forcing herself to hold the smile. "Yes. Yes, we are," she said, holding onto her own meaning of that promise.

The girl's mother caught up with her and grasped her little hand, bending down to reprimand the girl for running off.

 _Bad guys._ The girl meant the Order. Hermione's heart beat fast and she struggled to control herself fully as Skeeter ushered her ahead.

Standing in front of the lift were two bulky men in long black robes. Stitched on the chest of each wizard's robe was "D.D.E." and beneath that was the symbol of the Dark Mark. A few people approached the lift attempting to enter, but the men blocked the gate. They stepped aside when Skeeter and Hermione walked up, allowing only the two of them entrance.

Hermione avoided eye contact with Skeeter the whole ride, though she refused to put her head down. There was still hope within her. For Hagrid. For the Order. For the wizarding world. She would continue to do her part in the hopes that one day - hopefully sooner rather than later - the _real_ bad guys would be defeated.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione watched as Skeeter whispered to her acid green Quick-Quotes Quill. It scribbled quickly, even as the lift jolted around.

"Level Two, Department of Defense Enforcers," a disembodied voice announced.

Stepping out of the lift, Hermione found herself in a corridor lined with doors on both sides. They were labeled with the names of various European countries: France, Spain, Germany, Italy, Belgium, etc. She followed Skeeter down the path and around a corner through a set of heavy oak doors.

"Rita," Corban Yaxley greeted. His hard, blunt features were somehow more defined in the way he held himself in this setting. "Travers is already in there." He walked alongside Skeeter as they led Hermione across the full length of the office. He didn't acknowledge Hermione, nor did any of the other countless people in the room who all seemed to be heavily invested in whatever was in front of them. A few men read their papers closely, a woman buried her hand in her hair staring at a desk, and a couple people simply held their necks in twisted positions to avoid looking her way.

The room she was led to was in the far corner. Holding the door open and standing next to an older Death Eater - who she determined was Travers - was Theo Nott. She met his eyes for a brief moment, but he looked down quickly.

 _"Sit,"_ Yaxley barked at her.

She lifted an eyebrow at him and stayed standing. At the sight of his sneer and narrowed eyes, she sat in a black leather armchair near a bookshelf against the opposite wall.

Yaxley sniggered under his breath as he left the room, followed by Skeeter, Theo, and Travers.

She released a breath at the sudden moment she had alone. Every bit of fear about what was to come swirled inside her again. She could hear the group talking in muffled voices just outside; their silhouettes framed in the frosted glass window of the door. Looking around, she considered the decor of the room, trying to distract herself by looking for clues as to whose office she was in. There weren't any plants in the space at all. No sign of life or warmth. In fact, the room was cold, in temperature and in style.

She glanced at the door before she stood and walked over to the opposite bookshelf. There were plenty of books and various items; nothing was out of place. Scanning the titles, she wished she could crack even one of the books open. Behind her was a black and white marble desk. The contents atop it were neatly organized into piles, just as the rest of the things in the office were. The top of the stacks were cover pages for weekly reports. She didn't dare move anything to see what was there. Her eyes kept darting to the door as she glided along the back of the desk. Lying atop the furthest pile was a photo turned down. Her fingers hovered above it before she flipped it over.

Staring up at her with blue eyes and a stoic expression was Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione gasped. She was taken back to the sight of her seemingly lifeless body back at the château. In the picture, however, Narcissa's light, refined curls were neatly held back and low on her head. Her skin was silky smooth and white as milk; she couldn't be older than twenty. She looked beautiful. She had black pearls for earrings and a necklace that twisted to look like a snake crossing her collarbone. The top of her intricate, deep purple dress robes shown just at the bottom of the photo.

It was an odd sensation to feel some sort of sympathy for Lucius Malfoy.

She carefully turned the photograph back over and returned it to its spot atop the last pile on the desk.

Hermione scanned the rest of the items on the bookshelf near the armchair, then took her seat again before she was caught snooping. The door flew open, admitting Skeeter, her photographer, Theo, and Travers.

"Up, up." Skeeter pulled Hermione up by the arm and moved her to the desk, gripping her tightly.

Hermione rolled her shoulder to try to loosen the woman's grip as she was shoved against the marble. Skeeter wasn't gentle at all. She moved Hermione around in harsh movements, setting her limbs how she wanted them.

"There," Skeeter said, turning to her photographer. "Little Miss Perfect is ready for her photo-op-"

"Wait, what is this?" Hermione cut in. She was propped against the desk with her ankles crossed and hands placed beside her.

 _"Shush,"_ the nasty woman snapped. She faced Hermione again and slowly stepped closer and closer to her, looking her up and down. "This," she said, gesturing around her, "is a photo shoot for my newest book: _The Real Hermione Malfoy."_

A knot formed in the pit of Hermione's stomach, despite her relief that it wasn't something worse. "You can't-"

 _"Quiet,"_ Skeeter snapped again.

The woman whipped back around to her photographer. Hermione glanced at Theo, who was avoiding her eyes completely, staring down at the floor.

"Bozo, start," Skeeter said to the man behind the camera. She stood at the front of the room beside her photographer with one eyebrow raised. "Smile," she said in a falsely sweet singsong voice. She lifted a pointer finger to the dimple of her huge grin and twisted her hand in the way a stage-mom would do to her child.

Hermione breathed in deeply, letting her mind wander to steely eyes…the taste of cold dessert…warm breath inches away…

She smiled and straightened her body, holding her head up high and shoving her pride aside. Rita Skeeter wasn't worth it. And Hermione Granger had better things to focus on.

For twenty long minutes, Hermione held that smile as she was pushed around the room and placed in all sorts of positions as if she were a puppet. Skeeter had banished the contents of the desk before having her sit atop it on the side. Theo and the other Death Eater whispered to each other, examined notes, and huddled together with Skeeter every once in a while.

She was a product to be discussed and tested; used and presented as they saw fit.

Finally, she was told they were finished. The three were huddled together again for some time until someone knocked on the door and entered. A short man with heavy bags under his eyes rushed in, whispered something to the group, then left quickly.

A few moments later, the door opened again.

"Draco, darling!" Skeeter said.

Hermione looked up into the very eyes she had been thinking about. She sucked in a breath at the sight of him. He was in a charcoal suit under black robes and his hair was stiff, yet sleek. She slid off the desk and stood up straight, smoothing her hands over her dress. His eyes held hers before he looked to the others.

"I am so relieved you made it back alright!" Skeeter cooed.

Hermione clenched her jaw. She followed Skeeter's hand as it ran down Draco's arm.

Draco stepped away from the woman. "My time is limited today, Rita," he said. His voice was sharp.

Skeeter led him over to Hermione and messed with his collar. She smoothed his hair, and ran her hands over him in far too many places.

Hermione pursed her lips at the sight. She was pulled by the woman to face Draco, her hands shoved up to his chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the begrudged look on Skeeter's face.

"Go ahead." Skeeter stepped out of frame and her photographer took a few pictures.

Draco's arms wrapped around her waist. They felt stiff and different, just like his hair. When Skeeter changed their position again, she could feel the tension within him. It was almost worse than it had ever been with him. He was so tight; cold and reserved. She didn't know what he had been through or where they even stood after everything that had happened before he was sent away. But when Skeeter moved them to the bookshelf and had them look into each other's eyes, she knew he was in there somewhere.

"Great, keep holding! Bozo, get a shot straight-on," Skeeter commanded.

They stayed where they were, facing each other only inches apart. Draco's hand held her cheek.

"Get a little closer."

He leaned in; she was drawn in, too.

A flash.

"Closer!"

Another flash.

She wasn't sure who closed the distance, but either way, their lips connected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: February 10, 2021
> 
> Check out the board for this chapter on my Pinterest account, Queller Kay!


	12. Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Helene & Noodar! Love you ladies! 
> 
> And thank you SO much, readers! Hope you are liking the story so far and can't wait to read your reviews!!

“Perfect!” Skeeter said.

They pulled apart abruptly.

Draco glanced up towards the door. Theo was staring open-mouthed at them, but Travers was flipping through his notebook. Draco tore his eyes away and swallowed.

Skeeter stepped up to him, touched his arm and smiled. “Wonderful work, dear.” She leaned in closer, angling herself away from Hermione, though she made no effort to keep her from hearing. “I know this must be hard for you, but just remember that you are doing an important service. It’s for the greater good.” The woman placed her hand on his cheek, then walked away to chat with her photographer before he could shove her off. 

_Fucking cow._

He closed his eyes and swallowed, then looked back at Hermione. She stood there - cheeks flushed - staring down at the floor. Her brain was working; that perfect, overworked brain he had missed over the last two weeks without her. 

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” she breathed back, looking up at him again.

He looked back and forth between her eyes. There she was. Hermione Granger. Hermione _Malfoy._ He had been thinking of her for weeks; dreaming of seeing her. And there she was, staring up at him as if she had been dreaming of seeing him, too.

“Alright, come on. We’re done with you.” Skeeter’s long fingers wrapped around Hermione’s upper arm, yanking her towards the door. 

He held her amber gaze until she was whisked out of the office. 

Travers approached him. “Great job, Draco. This will be good for public perception after two weeks without the two of you in the papers.” He was flipping through his notes as he spoke. Straight to business. “Tomorrow, you two will attend a gathering in Bulgaria. I have a 9 a.m. portkey scheduled. It will take you to the Bulgarian Ministry where you will be met by Ambassador Zograf and his son. The details are here.” He handed Draco a folder and nodded, turning to leave. “Oh, and one more thing.” He turned back. “I’ve spoken to your father already, but I’ll let you know, too. She needs to be a bit sexier. Reads better, you know? Men want her, women want to be her. We’ll work on it.” The man finally exited, leaving Theo behind.

Draco stood there glaring at Travers’ back as he left.

“Welcome home, mate,” Theo said. “I was worried about you for a bit there.”

“I was fine.”

“You almost lost an arm.” Theo raised his eyebrows at him and crossed the room, taking a seat on the armchair. “Mulciber told me. Said you got all brave trying to lead your men into an abandoned warehouse.”

Draco scoffed and leaned against the marble desk. He didn’t want to talk about the mission at all. “How did Granger do before I got here?”

Theo smirked. “Oh, curious about _Granger_ now, are we?”

“Professionally.”

“Right.” A huffed laugh escaped Theo’s mouth. “You don’t need to do that with me.” He made a show of looking around the room. “I’ve been here since before you arrived. I know the others are thicker than weeds, but I saw the way you and Granger looked at each other. I _felt_ it.”

Draco tried to hide the bob of his Adam’s apple at his swallow. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You like her,” Theo said, “and she likes you, too.”

“Stop.”

“I get it. She’s…pretty. I mean, _I_ wouldn’t go there, but I can see how you-”

 _“Stop it,”_ Draco hissed, standing up straight. 

Theo stood, too. “Look, I’m not going to say anything-”

“I’ll see you at the Manor tonight.” He strode out of the room, leaving Theo behind. _Fucking arse._ The man was as loyal as they came, but he spoke far too freely. 

Draco swiftly walked through the office, avoiding eye contact with everyone around. He quickened his pace when he caught Graham Montague filing paperwork at a cubicle out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey, Malfoy!”

Draco kept walking, fixing his eyes on the fireplace on the other side of the office. He stepped through, tossing a handful of Floo Powder he had grabbed from the bowl nearby, and emerged into the foyer of the Manor. Entering the hallway, he came face-to-face with his father, who was standing just outside the doors to the drawing room. 

“Good, you’re here. Come in.” He opened the door and held it for Draco.

_Fuck._

The table was surrounded with the usual high-ranking Death Eaters. 

“Ah, Draco, thank you for joining us,” Voldemort said. “Please, sit.” He gestured to a seat at the center of the table in between Bellatrix and where his father sat. 

Draco settled into the chair, keeping his back straight and his head held high. 

Bella turned to him with a wicked smile. “Welcome home.”

He swallowed.

“Good work, Draco,” she said, running fingers down his back. 

He squirmed, trying to get away from her touch while attempting to conceal his movements.

“Young Draco, here, has been hard at work for us.” Voldemort gestured towards him as the others sniggered. “He spent two weeks chasing down the elusive Order base in Brussels and somehow only managed to capture one member.”

His father glanced at him from the seat next to him.

\--

 _Finally._

He shut the door and smacked his head back against it. He was thankful to be back in his room at the Manor, despite the horror that was downstairs. He ran a hand through his hair and slid down the door, his body still twitching from the Cruciatus. 

He let the forest in his mind thaw out; let the snow slip off the leaves. The ice melted off the memories he had frozen; allowing himself to feel again, now that he was alone. His mind flashed through a scene from his mission. 

_Running through a stone building..._

_At the end of the upstairs hallway, he came face-to-face with a Belgian Order member. The man looked up at him with wide eyes as he struggled to find something in a bag. If Draco hadn’t been the first one in, the man would have already been dead. But his split-second pause gave the man the time he needed to grasp whatever it was he was looking for that whisked him away._

_Sebastien Perrot II - French pure-blood and descendant of Minon Lestrange - ran in behind Draco as the man disappeared. “Fuck, ‘e got away?”_

_“Yeah. There’s no one else here,” Draco said. He gestured around him as the rest of his team spilled into the room. “Sweep the place. We’ll regroup and head to Cantersteen in twenty.”_

He had been so thankful that the man got away. The fear in the man’s eyes was stuck with him, though, and he had hoped that he wouldn’t see it again. 

_It had been thirteen days since he had arrived in Brussels and he had made barely any progress other than running the Order members out of their ever-moving base._

_He led his team through an underground tunnel thanks to a tip they had received from a local who had spotted suspected Order members in the vicinity._

_“Zere!” Perrot shouted._

_His heart was racing._ No, no, no. _His team members were throwing curses around his head in the direction of a group of men and women fifty paces ahead. The closest man was hit with a body-binding curse as the others bolted around a corner._

_There was nothing he could do to help the man now. He had to keep his cover. “Shelling, that way! Biver to Needham, follow them!” he shouted, sending one of his men straight ahead and ordering a group of them down around the corner. Perrot stayed behind and bent down, searching the stunned man’s pockets._

_“‘E’s got nothing on ‘im,” Perrot said. He turned the man to his back. “Should I take ‘im to ze Manor?”_

_Draco stared down at the man’s stunned, fearful eyes for the second time. There was nothing he could do for him. “Obviously,” he snapped at Perrot._

He dragged his hands down his face and shoved aside the memories. He had seen the man’s frightened eyes a third and final time downstairs beside the drawing room table. 

_“Crucio,” Voldemort said, pointing his wand at the man._

_The Belgian fell to the floor as the silent screams ripped from his throat. All Draco could do was stare at the dark floor next to the man, but that was where he had just been Crucio’d; where Hermione had been tortured. He wasn’t safe anywhere._

The burning behind his eyes was unavoidable. His face was hot and as his hands shook against his cheeks, they grew wet. He took the time he needed there on the floor, just letting the streams of tears flow from his eyes. There was no way to unsee what he had seen, and he knew that it would only get worse. Voldemort had killed more than one person in front of him; the terrible creature would only kill more as they continued to close-in on the growing resistance groups. He didn’t know how he would hold up when they eventually caught someone he had gone to school with. He didn’t know what position he could find himself in, and he wasn’t prepared to find out.

After a long while of sitting, unmoving, on the floor in front of his door, he pulled himself up and made his way to the balcony. He needed the fresh air. 

The cool breeze of the night air whisked across his face as he stepped outside; the wind was particularly cold on the dried streaks down his face. Draco gripped the railing and looked down at his shoes. He stood there with his eyes closed, just breathing in and out.

At the sound of a thud, he snapped his head up and to the right, looking straight into Hermione’s room. She met his eyes as she clumsily stumbled to her feet, her face redder than he had ever seen it. _Merlin, this witch._ He sent her a playful smirk and stood up straight, summoning a quill and paper from his room. 

_Forget how to walk, Granger?_ He scrawled the words on the parchment and folded it neatly, all the while holding the lift of the corner of his mouth. He sent the note flying through his room and under the cracks of the closet doors until it hovered before her. 

She had sent him a questioning look, but the embarrassment was still evident by the downward tilt of her head. When she read the words on the paper, she walked out of his view. He thought she had left for good, but she reappeared and curled up in the armchair. She smirked back at him and unfolded the paper, flattening it against the window for him to see. 

He squinted, unable to see a thing. Rolling his eyes at her, Draco flicked his wand to summon the paper under the closet doors, through his room, and back to him.

_Forget how to write, Draco? I can barely read your chicken scratch._

He feigned a hurt expression, making exaggerated movements with his pen as he scrawled his reply in perfect penmanship. 

_Hermione Granger: former reader of Ronald Weasley’s abhorrent essays for years, can’t read MY handwriting?_

He sent the paper flying back to her. As it swirled through her room and hovered before her, he watched the corners of her mouth lift into a smile. He summoned the paper back when she held it up for him.

_Much better._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger: reader of Draco Malfoy’s abhorrent notes._

By the look on her face, she was brilliantly pleased with herself. He bit his tongue and smirked as he started to write his reply, but he saw her get up out of the corner of his eye. She was back in an instant holding a fresh piece of parchment. The curls falling around her face bounced when she moved; she tucked them behind her ears without seeming to notice. It was a habit for her. She had always had her head down to read a book or write a paper, and she hadn’t changed.

When she looked up, her playful nature was subdued; replaced by a solemn energy he hadn’t expected. She waved the paper in the air, gesturing for him to summon the note, and he obliged.

_You’re shaking… Do you want to talk about it?_

He pressed his lips lightly together. _So bloody observant._

 _I’m fine,_ he wrote on the paper, sending it off to her. He watched, waiting for a reaction, but she was unreadable. He should have written more, right? She had been cooped up in that room for weeks without any information. He summoned a whole stack of parchment and wrote her a new note.

 _I don’t notice the shaking anymore, but the curse wasn’t the worst part about tonight. I would take being at the receiving end of one of_ his _curses over watching it happen to someone else any day._

The impact of his choice of words clicked when he saw panic in her eyes as she read the note. He quickly wrote another one.

_It wasn’t anyone you know._

She nodded with relief and released a heavy sigh. It was still _someone._ He knew she would care about that. 

He waited as she wrote for several minutes, drinking in the sight of her. She wasn’t put together like she had been earlier. Her hair wasn’t pulled into a perfect ‘do, her face was clear of makeup, and just as it had been in the kitchen of the château, she was wearing his argyle pajamas.

 _Can you tell me who it was? Was it a leader in the Belgian resistance? Do they have a lot of fighters? Do you know what they’re doing? Lottie started bringing me the papers, but I couldn’t gather what was going on, of course. It’s okay if you can’t say, or if you don’t want to say._ _I just_ _I would love to know_ _I’m just glad you’re okay._

He read her words a few times through. She wanted to ask more. She wanted to know everything. But what could he tell her? What _should_ he tell her?

He glanced up at her, and the briefest of looks reminded him of her purity. _Purity._ Not in blood - he didn’t care about that - but in her outlook on the world. She believed in _good_ and was more hopeful than anyone he had ever encountered before. 

_Don’t worry. Yes, a man was captured, but it could have been much worse. We never found an Order member from Britain, and the whereabouts of their base is still unknown. I don’t know how many people they have. I don’t know how they are getting their message out or recruiting, but they’re doing it. All we can do is hope I don’t find out._

He sent the note back to her, immediately second-guessing his choice of words. How was he so bad at this? He watched her closely as she read. Even with the furrow of her brow - the physical manifestation of her worry and fear - she exuded understanding. She was the kind of person- _no,_ she was the _only_ person he could trust to see the nuance in anything, and it relieved the moment of panic within him that he ruined everything. 

A knock echoed through his room behind him. _Fuck._ She was still writing back to him, but he couldn’t wait. He wrote a final note to Hermione and sent it under the closet doors to her. 

_I have to go. Sleep well._

_\- D_

She nodded and flashed him a warm smile. 

He wished he could stay there all night talking to her. But he had completely forgotten that he was meant to meet Theo in the foyer. His nostrils flared as he strode through his room, using his wand to close the curtains and change into his Death Eater robes. He had dreaded this night ever since the announcement had been made that the Death Eaters would be summoned for an initiation the night before. _Fucking Perrot._ The man had _earned_ his mark and was _excited_ about getting the damn thing. _Idiot._

“Hey, I thought you were going to meet me-” Theo started when Draco opened the door.

 _“Yes,_ but I was delayed,” he snapped. 

“Woah, mate, it’s fine. Ready to go?”

Draco nodded as he led the way down the hall to the rear staircase.

Theo lowered his voice. “Were you able to see her again?”

Draco closed his eyes and let out a sigh. The man wouldn’t let up. “Yeah.”

“Well, you two are going to Bulgaria tomorrow, right? That’s good. You’ll get some time together.” Even speaking in nearly a whisper, Theo’s voice carried through the staircase.

Draco stopped and turned around, facing his friend squarely. “Look, there’s nothing positive about any of this. It doesn’t matter if we get time together. She’s a prisoner here. My mother is Merlin-knows-where and we are headed to an initiation of a new _Death Eater._ You’ve seen how Voldemort’s propaganda has grown in mere weeks. You’ve been tracking public perception. You should know more than anyone that there isn’t an easy way out of this. There might not be one at all.” He hadn’t said it out loud before, but the reality of it hit him as his words settled in. He clenched his jaw, holding himself together.

Theo stared back at him. He was silent for a beat. “Well, what are we going to do about that, then?”

Draco couldn’t help the scoff that escaped him. “There’s nothing to do, Theo. You don’t understand. I won’t abandon my mother. And as much as I couldn’t give two fucks about that giant oaf, Hermione wouldn’t do anything to put him in danger.”

“What if I found them?” Theo said.

“Found who?”

“Hagrid and your mother. What if I found them? If we knew where they were, we would at least have something to work with. I could-”

The sound of a door closing rang through the staircase, and they continued down the stairs seamlessly, as if they hadn’t stopped to talk at all. 

Mulciber was looking over his shoulder as he ascended the first few steps. 

“You are not authorized to access this area of my house,” Draco said, making his tone as sharp and icy as ever.

Mulciber snapped his head forward, jolting at Draco and Theo’s presence. He sneered. “Oh, is it _your_ house now? Didn’t think with mummy gone, you’d-”

Draco’s vision blurred as he lunged forward, grasping the man’s collar and jabbing his wand into Mulciber’s chin. “Don’t _ever_ talk about my mother,” he hissed. “Get out.” He shoved the man towards the door and watched as he hurried away. 

“Come on,” he said, leading Theo to the foyer where Lottie awaited them with a portkey.

\--

They landed under a deep shade of indigo sky just outside a cemetery on the Northeast side of Paris. 

“This way,” Draco said. 

Walking down a stone pathway, they headed into a building, descending into the depths of the Lestrange Mausoleum. Draco’s stomach turned as the rumblings of a crowd of Death Eaters grew louder. 

“Shouldn’t take too long, right? Mine only lasted an hour,” Theo said under his breath.

“I don’t know.”

The two of them emerged into a burned down amphitheatre. Draco knew all about this place. He had read about it in countless history books; visited it as a child, even. But being there again in this context was a different experience. 

They stood in the front near Lucius, Nott Sr., and Travers. Perrot was a few spaces away. Draco surveyed the room. The Carrows, Dolohov, Rookwood, Avery, Bella, Yaxley, Rosier, Selwyn, Greyback, MacNair, Rowle, and the Lestrange brothers all filed in and found places surrounding the stage. 

Draco stood up straight, focusing on the forest in his mind. He covered the ground in snow; the trees, the branches, the leaves. Every mental representation of his most vulnerable memories was hidden under layers of white. For good measure, he added a thick layer of ice to make them impenetrable. It had taken patience and perseverance for him to get to a place where he could do it within minutes with ease. He had practiced for months with Bella. Severus had even spent countless hours with him. 

“Welcome.” A smooth, eerie voice echoed in the space. 

To his right, Draco watched a figure in billowing robes glide to the center of the room. He stood on the stage, taking his time as he looked around the room. Nobody else moved. There wasn’t a sound other than the sweeping of fabric against the stone where Voldemort stood. 

“We stand here tonight in a very sacred space. Here, I do not care to call for action. I have _taken_ action. I have defeated the so-called _Chosen One_ and I am successfully expanding my influence through sheer wit. Who else has done this? Who else has been as clever as I? As bold? And who else has obtained the very tools that I have to ensure that no one else could possibly defeat me?”

Draco’s throat tightened. 

“For, as of last night, I am the Master of Death.”

Bile rose in Draco’s throat, but he couldn’t afford to even flinch. The gasps around the room echoed in his ears, and the satisfaction that radiated from the man before him was sickening to a whole new level.

“Yes,” he hissed. “I have the Cloak of Invisibility, the Resurrection Stone, and the Elder Wand: the Deathly Hallows.”

The room was nearly silent, yet it buzzed with the news. Draco focused all of his energy on the melting snow in his mind. _No._ He couldn’t allow himself to mentally crumble. As much as he wanted to worry about a girl and his future - his future _with_ the girl - _no,_ he couldn’t. _Snow. Ice. Cold._ And suddenly the forest in his mind was frozen over once more, and he was standing in a room surrounded by Death Eaters, staring at the _Master of Death._

“In just a few days, we will congregate here once more, though the rows will be full and the walls will be lined with supporters.” Voldemort’s voice boomed throughout the room. “They will spill out beyond the confines of these walls to hear about _love_ and _unity_ and _acceptance.”_

The Death Eaters chuckled, smirking at each other.

“Each of you will continue to spread that message. You will continue to recruit. And you will continue to shut down any and all efforts from the _Order of the Phoenix_ until you destroy every last member.”

Murmurs of agreement rang through the room.

“You, my most faithful followers, have all taken the Mark,” Voldemort said. “All except for one.” He grinned and gestured to Perrot with an outstretched arm and an open palm. “Come here, my boy.”

Perrot stepped forward, and Draco couldn’t miss the prideful look on his face.

“You will now take the Dark Mark and pledge your life to me.”

“Yes, Master,” Perrot said, bowing slightly. He pushed the sleeve of his robes to his elbow and held out his forearm. 

“Avery, Rookwood,” Voldemort snapped.

Voldemort conjured a chair as the men hurried forward. Draco watched - his expression as cold and hard as stone - as the men pushed Perrot into the seat and held him down. Perrot didn’t resist or squirm, but it was clear that he anticipated the pain.

Draco found a spot on the wall just beyond Voldemort’s head to watch. In his peripheral, he saw the movements Voldemort made as he recited the spell, hissing in Parseltongue. He was swirling his wand around, slowly tracing the outline of his Mark, Perrot’s screams bouncing off the walls all the while.

Holding his gaze away from the action, Draco forced himself to focus on his snowy forest. Images of his own Marking threatened to creep within his mind; the pain from that night ghosted through him, prickling his skin. The only movement he made for twenty minutes was the blinking of his eyes. He relished in the little moments of darkness; escape. 

He was thankful that as the moments passed, Perrot slowly became quieter and quieter until he was merely panting through the pain. Draco didn’t have to look at Perrot’s forearm to know that the Dark Mark was etching itself into his skin, weaving its way through his veins until it latched onto his heart. He could _feel_ it there. 

“Yes,” Voldemort hissed. He was done with the spell. 

Draco tore his eyes away from the wall in the background. _Fuck._ He had to be a part of the next phase. 

“My friends.” The word was dragged out, Voldemort’s pleased tone seeping through his words. “We nearly have a new member within our ranks.”

Bella’s excited cackle echoed against the walls louder than any other cheers from around the room. 

“Sebastien Perrot, descendant of Minon Lestrange.” Voldemort gestured towards Perrot as the aching man stood, holding his forearm up with his other hand. “In a few moments, you will be among the most superior beings in the world. You will be honored as a top-ranking _‘Defence Enforcer.’”_

The Death Eaters laughed at that, and Draco joined, embracing the familiar performativity. 

“And you will answer to Lord Voldemort.”

Perrot lowered his head and upper body, surrendering his autonomy to the horrific man before him.

Voldemort nodded, and Draco knew what he had to do. He moved in unison with the rest of the Death Eaters, closing in on Perrot. As he neared him, Draco lifted his right hand to his Dark Mark; the forest in his mind was as cold and icy as ever. He pressed into the brand and placed his left pointer on Perrot’s new Mark, just as the others did. 

Perrot’s face scrunched in pain, and he held back more screams. 

A searing sensation traveled up his arm and through his body, but he bit his tongue. He had been through this before with Theo’s initiation, and if he had to guess, he would likely have to go through it again. 

“Aligxu al ni,” he chanted with the group. _Join us_.

When he pulled his hand away from Perrot, the pain dissipated, and he stepped back into the large circle surrounding the stage with the other Death Eaters. Perrot joined them, and as he took his spot, Draco noticed the self-satisfaction and pride that emulated from the man. _What. An. Idiot._

“This has been a successful evening, my friends,” Voldemort hissed. “You are now answering to the most powerful wizard there has ever been.”

Gleeful agreements bounced off the walls, the effect a perfect representation as ever of the inflated response to the continued rise of Voldemort. Draco nodded in support. He always maintained the level of stoicism that he learned from his father. 

“And you have a new member amongst your ranks.”

Similar shouts rang through the area. 

“Over the past two months, most of you have performed your duties well. Others should remember that Lord Voldemort does not tolerate those who fail to meet my expectations.” The ‘s’ slid off his tongue with ease. “Bellatrix,” he called.

Bella jumped with joy where she stood, her wicked smile spreading across her face. She glided across the room with far too much pep in her step, leaving and returning with a shaking man. 

Draco recognized him as a member of one of the other field teams. He hadn’t worked with him, but he knew that it could not be good if he was being brought before Voldemort in such a setting. The man was nowhere near ever becoming a true Death Eater. 

“Smith,” Voldemort said as the man was pushed to a kneel before him.

Draco swallowed. _Snowy forest. Snowy forest._

“You have betrayed me, and thus, you have betrayed us all: your fellow Defense Enforcers, your family, your country, and the entire wizarding community. By failing to enforce the ban on dark material, you have failed us all, and most of all yourself.” Voldemort turned to Perrot and beckoned him over. “You know what you must do.”

Perrot nodded and faced the man. “Avada Kedavra!” 

Draco closed his eyes and held them shut as the cheers erupted around the room. He played his part, though, clapping and nodding to signal his support.

“Good,” Voldemort said, placing a hand on Perrot’s shoulder. He turned around as he spoke to the group. “This has been a successful evening. Tomorrow, we celebrate the first nation beyond the United Kingdom to adopt the Advancement Decrees. Next week, we welcome a second. By the end of July, I expect three more.” 

The Death Eaters nodded.

“Go.”

\--

Draco shut the door behind him. He crossed his bedroom without a moment’s rest, slashing his wand through the air. The balcony doors opened, curtains fluttering, and he strode through, breathing in the night air. He searched for any sign of Hermione through her window. 

Her room was pitch dark.


	13. Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Gah, I'm so sorry for the late update! I'm really trying not to do that, but I've been swamped with student teaching. Only a month and a half left of grad school, though, so bare with me! Thanks so much to Helene & Noodar for alphaing and betaing, and for being so patient as I took a bit longer to write/edit. 
> 
> Hope you love the chapter :)

_ Soft brushes of fingertips along her cheek. A press of lips to her temple. The sweet smell of cinnamon and-  _

\--

Hermione awoke to sun rays shining through the windows in her room. She pulled herself out of bed and walked straight to the armchair, stepping around it to stand directly before the window. Her eyes searched the balcony, scanning the windowed doors for any sign of Draco, but the curtains inside were closed.

She retreated back into her room and glanced at the clock. 7:41 a.m. She had to wait over an hour before seeing him again. 

She curled up under the blankets once more and forced herself to try to fall back to sleep. 

_ Strong hands wrapped around her waist… _

The picture whirled in her mind; a number of scenes ran through her head, keeping her wide awake. She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. The moments ticked by as she let her mind wander still. Lifting her hand above her, she used her fingers to search under the pillow until they wrapped around the silver object. Draco’s snitch.

It was warm from the countless hours it had spent hidden. She held it up to her chest and closed her eyes, feeling its weight; heavier than it truly was. The object kept Draco close, but it also reminded her of Harry. Somehow, she had found herself clutching to both of them as she gripped the little bit of metal.

_ I open at the close. _ That’s what Harry’s snitch had said. And she hoped that it had done exactly that for him; that before he had been ripped from this world, he wasn’t completely alone. Draco’s snitch was nearly bare except for the beautifully scripted M etched into it. It didn’t have a message like Harry’s, though Draco  _ himself _ had opened at the close. He had opened up to her. And while she wanted more than anything for things to have gone differently, Hermione didn’t want to lose that.

She lifted the snitch to her lips and pressed them to the metal. Nothing happened. She had expected that. She sat up and slid it back under her pillow. 

\--

Just after 8:45 a.m., there was a knock at Hermione’s door. Lottie had already brought her breakfast and a sexy, yet sophisticated, outfit for the day. 

“Good morning,” Hermione said, beaming the moment she saw those perfect silver eyes. Her smile faded when Draco didn’t return the warm greeting.

He nodded at her, stepping aside and gesturing for her to enter the hallway. 

She swallowed and obliged, averting her eyes. It dawned on her the moment she looked up that she was an absolute idiot. Lucius stood a few paces away staring at her with a smug, knowing look. 

“Yes, a very good morning,” he drawled. 

She couldn’t help the scowl that filled her face, but she knew it was mixed with a bright red, giving her embarrassment away. She grimaced at Draco and let him pass her, following him down the hallway as they made their way through the Manor. 

As she descended the stairs behind Draco and his father, the doors to the drawing room swung open. Her chest pounded in fear. 

“Ah, hello, my friends,” Voldemort hissed, emerging in billowing black robes.

Hermione stiffened.

“Lucius, I would like a word.” Voldemort gestured for the Malfoy patriarch to enter the drawing room.

Lucius nodded and obliged, leaving Draco and Hermione alone. 

He sighed beside her, and she chanced a glance in his direction, trying to feel out their dynamic. When he spoke, his voice was low and careful. “Don’t let your guard down. We can’t be too careful.”

Heat rose to her cheeks. He was right. She shouldn’t have been so careless, even if they were just being friendly with one other. She nodded.

The doors opened again, and out walked Lucius, the clench of his teeth hardening his features. Behind him was the faint slither of the snake along the floor.  _ Nagini.  _ The final Horcrux. It was so close, yet so far away. 

“Move,” Lucius barked at them.

Hermione didn’t know where they were meant to go. She followed Draco as he glided across the room, her mind still on the snake, though she was acutely aware of Lucius’ presence behind her. 

The three of them walked in silence to a nearby room. The click of the men’s shoes were noticeably out of sync. Inside, Hermione heard birds chirping outside the open window, and the soft morning breeze that crept into the room taunted her with calmness. 

A decorative crystal M was strategically placed in the center of a table. Draco stopped and placed a hand on Hermione’s upper arm. His fingers were firm as they wrapped around her. He was far more clinical and reserved than she had wanted him to be, but he told her through his grip that he was really there with her. 

The clock on the mantel read 8:58. Lucius grasped one side of the object, and Hermione followed, Draco’s hand grazing hers as he, too, touched the portkey.

“Before we leave,” Lucius started, facing them directly with his chin lifted.

Hermione genuinely wondered how this man ever saw anything other than the tip of his nose as he looked down at people. 

“You should know that it has not gone unnoticed how… _ acquainted _ …the two of you appear to be.” 

Heat threatened to burn her cheeks from within.  _ God,  _ she needed to get that under control. Blood rushed down within her arm from how tight Draco’s grip became. 

Lucius’ nostrils flared as he spit his next words. “I have assured our Lord that you are simply obeying your orders skillfully.” He stepped closer. “Do not forget the part of your order that stipulates that you are  _ not _ to copulate.” The final word barely left his mouth through his visually visceral reaction to it. 

The twist within her stomach came and went, and within a blink, she was staring at Lucius surrounded by bright white walls.

Draco finally let go of her arm, which was aching from the lack of circulation. The physical ache was nothing like the ache of her stomach at Lucius’ words. 

“How  _ dare  _ you suggest that I would even want to  _ touch _ a Mudblood.” Draco had stepped closer to his father, sneering up at him.

His words cut through her like a knife; its sharp blade slicing through the soft, warm desire for him that she had yet to truly admit was there.

“Do remember that  _ you _ are the one who forced me into this,” he whispered harshly as Ambassador Zograf neared the door. 

Hermione swallowed, and Draco’s fingers curled around her arm again. This time, though, the warmth was gone.

“Ah, there they are! Velcome, my friends! It is vonderful to see you again,” Zograf said. He was as tall as Lucius, although that’s where the similarities ended. His round face and short brown hair gave him a youthful air. He was beaming.

Hermione smiled back at the man. He was kind, warm, and welcoming, but she knew better than to trust that facade.

“Ambassador.” Draco’s smooth voice was liquid gold floating in the air between them. “Thank you for having us. Hermione and I have been looking forward to our visit, and to the rally tomorrow. Is everything in order?” 

He released her hand when they stopped to talk. She twiddled with her fingers, unsure of what to do with her hands without the connection. His hand found her again, tracing her spine with his thumb. As Draco talked with the ambassador, Hermione held her smile, though all she could focus on was the fidgeting of his fingers with the fabric of her jumper. A shiver tingled through her body at the soft movements.

The men chatted for a few minutes. Behind the ambassador stood a taller man with sharp features. He must have been the same age as Hermione; maybe a few years older.  _ Lev Zograf. _

“Let us go. My vife is vaiting for us,” Ambassador Zograf said. 

\--

She stood in front of the gates of a different manor. They were wide and bronze, nearly blending in with the earthy background. In the center were crisp, elongated letters: Имението Зограф.

Another pop sounded beside her. 

As the gate slid open, Lucius shoved past them and strode along with the ambassador. He walked with the air of disgust he so skillfully conveyed to anyone outside his pureblood, Death Eater world. Lev was several steps behind Hermione and Draco. 

“The Zograf Estate,” Draco whispered.

“Yes, I gathered as much.” She matched his hushed tone. Ahead, Lucius greeted Ambassador Zograf’s wife. 

Draco walked beside her, intertwining his fingers with hers. His gaze found her despite the minimal movement of his head. Hermione met his stony eyes and swallowed hard again. 

He looked at her with the warmth she had missed in his second touch. He was glowing, even as his cheeks revealed a reddish hue. Icy blonde locks swept over his forehead in the breeze. With every step, his pupils widened, and the world seemed to slow down around her; around  _ them.  _

_ Fuck _ _.  _ She couldn’t help but think of  _ copulating _ with him now. 

She gave him the best, tiniest smirk she could without being overly obvious, then tore her gaze away. The pounding in her chest grew, and she thought back to their fleeting moments alone together…the scenes she had imagined…daydreamed about. Her mind was whirling beautifully, and she completely missed the fact that they had just Apparated an extraordinary distance. 

Warm fingers laced through hers, pulling her along the path. He squeezed her hand, just as she had done when they first returned to the Manor; after Draco encountered the Boggart. 

When they reached Lucius, Draco started in on conversation with the men. Hermione tried to avert her gaze from Mrs. Zograf, not wanting to be trapped in small talk with her, but she wasn’t fast enough, and the stout woman made her way over to her. 

“Hello, dear,” the woman said warmly. 

Hermione smiled back and returned the greeting. As they engaged in the most excruciating discussion about rosebeds, she tried to gauge who this person really was. Did she hate Muggle-borns? Would she try to whisk her away like the woman in France? 

By the time they were interrupted to head inside, she still hadn’t any clue as to whose home she would be staying in. She had to accept it, but it would have been nice to know who she was dealing with. While Draco was gone, she had spent an inordinate amount of time tracking what she had read in the papers, only to find such little information from so many words. This moment felt just like that, and it irritated her more than anything. When she could research properly, she could always find what she needed, even if she really had to infer. She was a critical thinker. She trusted her ability to read between the lines and find solutions when none seemed to be obvious.

The last time she’d played in a game of chess, she’d been a castle, but now she was just a pawn. She hated having such little control. 

\--

The morning had gone by in a flash. The Zografs had invited Lucius to stay for tea after they gave the updated tour of their estate. Thankfully for Hermione, he had declined and left, but not before sending her a nasty warning look. 

“Come, ve have a vonderful selection of hors d'oeuvres awaiting us in the sitting room,” Mrs. Zograf said. 

_ The perfect host.  _ Hermione thought back to her anger at the expectations of her as a host. To see a woman be perfectly accepting of the lifestyle forced her to hold back pursed lips. 

The Zografs led them into a well-lit open space filled with fluffy accents and floral patterns. 

Draco led her to a seat on the sofa where Mrs. Zograf gestured for them to sit, and Lev sat in an armchair on Hermione’s other side. Mrs. Zograft waltzed about the room preparing tea and offering tiny food, despite the fact that nobody wanted anything. 

The ambassador started some story Hermione gladly tuned out. He was boisterous and expressive, and she was surprised to see how well Draco adapted to his speaking style. The physical cues, responsive questions, an d inquisitive  expressions he gave were so well done, she knew perfectly well how he was able to maintain the Death Eater ruse. 

A rumble of a voice to her left was low enough for only her. “I hear you like Quidditch players.”

Hermione whipped her head towards Lev. “Excuse me?” she said. 

He was leaning closer to her, and when she looked his way, his eyes fell to her chest, then back up.

“Look, I’ve known D for some time now. Ve aren’t exactly close, but I know this can’t be real.” He waved his hand as a gesture between her and Draco. “And Krum and I go way back. He said there isn’t a vorld in vhich you vould be vith him.” His eyes darted towards Draco again, and he smirked. “Yeah, I don’t see it.”

Hermione couldn’t find the words to respond. She started to talk a few times, wanting to ask about Viktor or find out how obvious it was that Draco and her weren't really together. Or about whether he was keeping it a secret. Could she say something about Hagrid’s captivity? Should she?

“It’s alright,” he said. He had clearly noticed her hesitation. “Your secret’s safe vith me. So, vhat’s in it for you? Because if it’s about the money, there are plenty of us who can do you better.” He flashed a wink. 

The man was flirty and presumptuous, but Hermione could tell that he was harmless. “Don’t worry about me,” she said almost playfully. “How is everything here?” She thought if she leaned into the flirtiness, too, she could get some information on the true state of Bulgaria.

“Lonely,” he said, feigning sadness. 

She rolled her eyes back at him. “I didn’t mean with  _ you,”  _ she said. 

He huffed a quiet laugh, then got serious. “It’s bad in the streets. There’s a lot of support for  _ him _ . But not all things are as they seem.” He glanced towards his father and Draco. “Whose side is he on?”

_ Fuck. _ She couldn’t give Draco away. It occurred to her that this could be a test. Or…it could be their only way out…

When she didn’t reply right away, he spoke again. “Either vay, you have me,” he said, winking again.

A hand squeezed her thigh, and she whipped her head almost dangerously back to Draco. He was looking at her with a smile she had seen many times, only this was the fake one. 

“We’re ready to go. Are you?” he asked in a kind tone. 

_ Damn, he’s good. _

“Yes,” she said, smiling back.

He stood and held his hand out for her, helping her up as only a perfect gentleman would do. The Zografs made to leave, as well.

She waited a beat for him to move, but Draco stayed put, placing a hand on her cheek and pressing his lips to hers. It was so gentle; so pure. So quick. But the unspoken words he said through it were not lost on her. 

“How lovely,” Ambassador Zograf cooed from the doorway. “Even sveeter than at your own vedding!” He strode out the door, Lev following directly behind, sending Hermione a knowing look.

“Truly lovely, dears,” Mrs. Zograf said. “Ve are just so happy for you two.” She was beaming almost as much as her husband, and if she didn’t know better, Hermione might have believed the charade.

They followed her out of the sitting room and along the whimsical hallway back to the estate entrance. All the while, Mrs. Zograf blabbed about her geraniums, Draco’s hand barely grazing the small of Hermione’s back. 

\--

Draco shut the door to the lounge after arranging plans with the Zografs to meet downstairs before the rally in the morning. Hermione couldn’t let herself think about the upcoming event. After the gathering she had attended that day, she needed to shut her mind off from anything that involved followers of Voldemort. She would have plenty of time the next day to go through the motions again: smiling, serving tea, nodding her head, staying quiet. Of course, she would need to be closer to Draco at the rally. There would be far more eyes on them, including the press. 

“I swear, that  _ fucking _ guy-” 

“Calm down, he’s harmless.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, ‘Mione, we have a cover to uphold. And if he’s staring down at your breasts all  _ fucking  _ day, twitching his eye at you in that sad excuse for a wink, I’m going to kill him.”

“I doubt anyone noticed but you,” Hermione said, searching the room for her overnight bag. Lottie was meant to have it sent to the lounge. Two doors were opposite each other, presumably leading to the guest rooms. There was ornate furniture lining the walls, one piece of which held her belongings. 

Draco scoffed, running a hand over his face and through his hair. He was worn out from the day of pretending just as much as she was. As he had entered the lounge, Hermione had caught him loosening his tie and tousling his hair unconsciously. 

“We just can’t afford to have  _ any _ giveaways.” 

It was Hermione’s turn to scoff. She didn’t even look his way; just unzipped her bag, taking her earrings off and placing them in a tiny pouch at the top. 

“What?” he asked.

She turned back to him; he was gripping the back of an armchair, knuckles turning white. “I just find it ironic that you are so bothered by the prospect of another man wanting me when earlier today you nearly choked on your revulsion at the very thought.” She abandoned her bag and watched him carefully, her eyebrows raised.

Draco’s eyes grew wider. “That- that’s not-” He crossed the room to her, brow furrowed once again. “That’s not what I meant. I- I had to say that. My father already has suspicions abou-”

_ “I know,” _ she interjected. “I know.” The second one was softer; sweeter. “I know this is-”

“No, I don’t think you  _ do  _ know,” he said, stepping closer to her. His voice had dropped an octave.

Hermione’s throat tightened, and she felt the warmth of anticipation - and possibly some amount of fear - grow within her. 

You have to know…” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “that, of course…I want you.” The words left him in almost a whisper.

Her breath caught before saying the first thing that came to mind. “I want you, too.” She swallowed and shut her eyes.  _ What are you doing?  _

He laughed, and when she opened her eyes again, she was met with the real smile she had missed from him earlier that day. “Well, it’s not very reassuring when you say it like that,” he said. 

The corners of her mouth lifted, too, and she looked down at the floor, chewing her lip. 

“Now, say it like you mean it.” He lifted her chin with his fingers, forcing her to look him in the eye. 

She pressed her lips together, trying, but failing, to hide her grin. “I want you,” she finally said.

“Hmm,” Draco feigned careful thought, “let’s go again. This time with more gusto.” 

“I want you!” She didn’t even try to hide her smile. 

“I don’t know…I think you need-”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his with all the  _ gusto _ he wanted. 

The groan that escaped him was immediate and full of emotion. It buzzed against her mouth. Arms draped around her waist. His fingers trailed up her thighs and over her hips, finding the hem of her jumper. 

The sound of her heart  _ had  _ to be loud enough for him to feel. 

“I’ve thought-”  _ kiss- _ “of this-”  _ kiss- _ “since I first-”  _ kiss-  _ “saw you-”  _ kiss- _

She couldn’t help but smile against his lips.

“in my pjs-”  _ kiss- _

Her abrupt laugh broke the connection of their lips.  _ “Draco!”  _ she said, tapping his chest.

“What? That was beyond fit.”

She bit her lip again. 

Strong hands gripped her sides, pulling her hips against his.

He kissed her again; she felt his tongue gently press against the seam of her lips. She opened for him, allowing herself to taste his desire; his need. And she tried to convey it back to him. 

His fingers finally found her skin underneath her jumper. They swirled in place, keeping in time with their movements. He moved his hands down, gripping her arse. His hands slid down further, under her thighs, and picked her up in one swift movement. He was carrying the weight of her -  _ all  _ of her - with him as he pushed her against the nearest wall. 

She gasped, thinking how wrong others had been at discarding the  _ he-took-my-breath-away _ cliché. The fire in his eyes - in his movements - emulated the Gryffindor spirit he had so wholly despised throughout his life. And almost on cue, there was a sound from the back of his throat…a full  _ growl,  _ and it sent flutters through her. 

She held onto him, grasping his shoulders to steady herself as she secured her legs around him. They breathed together, eyes closed, foreheads touching. He held her there perfectly, her body ironically trapped between him and a wall. It was a terrible, perfect representation of their lives, but she didn’t care. 

“Finite,” he said. 

Strands of his blonde hair that fell between them were joined by darker, curly ones. She looked into his eyes - dilated pupils again - then threw her head back against the wall. 

“Thank you,” she sighed, smiling.

He nodded and dropped his head to her chest. 

_ That  _ sent a wave of something through her. Her breathing picked up again, and he must have noticed because he was suddenly kissing up her collarbone…her neck…along her jaw. He glided his lips along her, sending a shiver down her spine. 

“Your stupid,  _ perfect _ hair,” he whispered. 

She was pushed harder against the wall, Draco using his hips to hold her up. She could feel how much he wanted her; the hard bulge in his trousers pressed up against her. His left hand lifted to her face and brushed the fallen hair away. Fingers weaved through her hair, gripping her lightly and angling her to a position where she could kiss him properly again.

Deep kiss after deep kiss, she couldn’t believe the haze of bliss she was in; like they were swaying in the club under the Lovebomb again. But this time, they didn’t need any potions.

Draco’s hand left her hair, slowly working its way down her body. She felt him learning her curves, touching her as softly as his lips touched hers. Every movement was intentional, yet conveyed raw emotion. He was invading her senses in the best way possible, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t throw walls up to shove someone away. 

Instead, she pulled him in; closer to her, if that was even possible. Her breasts pressed against his chest; thighs rubbed against him as he deepened the kiss even more. She breathed him in, intoxicated by the sweet scent of cinnamon and cedarwood. She couldn’t help the moans that escaped her through the tiny breaks in their kisses. 

He echoed her, and the sounds sent her deeper into him; all of him.

“Mmm,” she breathed. 

“‘Mione,” he whispered, sliding his left hand up her body to grip the side of her face. 

“Should-” she tried. “Should we-” She couldn’t think of what she had meant to ask. As quickly as the thought had come, he had thrown it far away, out of reach for her. 

“Mhmm,” he agreed. “Whatever you want.”

She huffed a laugh. “Don’t say things you don’t mean,” she said, smirking.

He pulled his head back and returned the expression. “What makes you think I don’t mean that?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Whatever I want, hm?” She raised  _ both  _ eyebrows, showing him up.

He scrunched his face in a feigned look of strained thought. 

“That’s what I thought,” she said, grazing her lip with her teeth through a smile.

“Hey, I successfully evade the Dark Lor-”

She stopped him with a shove of her lips against his.  _ What an idiot.  _

He was caught off guard, but was barely fazed as he settled back into the rhythm they had had. 

She pulled back and rested her head against his, unwrapping her legs. They dangled for a moment until he dropped her the rest of the way to the floor; he leaned down with her. In a soft whisper just inches from his lips, she breathed, “someone could be watching…or listening.”

He nodded against her forehead. “Come,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her through the nearest door into one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind them. 

“Wait, should we be in one room or should I go to the other one?” she asked quietly. 

They both paused near the door, and he turned back to her. His hand still held hers.

“You’re my new wife,” he whispered, smirking at her again. He let go of her and walked to a dresser in the corner. “It would look weird if we didn’t share a room.” 

She leaned back against the door and watched his movements as he slid out of his robes and shoes, placing his cufflinks on top of the dresser. He had dressed in full suit and robes, his style the epitome of an elitist. 

Hermione took in the room around her. Its decor echoed the fluffy accents and floral patterns from the rest of the estate. The four poster bed was centered against the wall opposite her, and a bathroom was to the right. 

She observed Draco in his movements, and her mind swirled with the prospect of staying with him again, especially after everything that had just happened. They were there, alone together, and he was  _ undressing. _ She swallowed. Everything with Draco seemed to be moving so fast, yet so slow at the same time. And although she carried with her the reality of the situation she was in, at some point, she had determined that he was the perfect distraction. 

She crossed the room, placing a hand on his arm when she reached him. “Let me,” she said, pulling his shirt off his shoulders just as he undid the last button. 

He angled his head towards her and smiled softly. “Thanks.”

She smiled back and folded his shirt neatly, lifting herself on her tiptoes to reach his ear. “Whatever you want,” she whispered. 

He visibly shuddered, turning to her and gripping her sides. 

A huff of surprise left her as he pulled her against him and connected his lips to hers again. She rested her hands on his chest, remembering the first time she had done so; when he had first kissed her. They had been in the Ministry Atrium on display for the world to see. The loathing in his eyes at the moment couldn’t compare to the intrigue…the desire…the care that shone in them now. 

Her hands grazed lines of raised skin, and she stopped, pushing him back lightly to take a look. The silver scars she had seen on his face in the kitchen were larger and longer as they traveled down his body than she had imagined. She traced her fingers down the jagged, intersecting lines. 

“It’s in the past,” he said, leaning down to lightly kiss her before heading into the bathroom.

Hermione retrieved her bag from the lounge and changed into the argyle pajamas that had come to be a staple in her attire. She smirked as she pulled them up and cinched them around her waist, knowing how he felt about them. 

“You are  _ not  _ wearing those.” Draco was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, leaning his shoulder against the frame. His pajamas- black with tiny green stripes - slung low across his hips.

“Oh, I’m not?” she said, making her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth. When she was done, she moved to the bed, hopping up to sit on the edge, facing him.

“Absolutely not. They belong to me, and I want them back.” He walked over to stand in front of her, forcing her to lean back on her hands to see his face.

“They belong to me now. They were in my room,” she said, teasing him.

“Ah, but what you failed to notice is that room used to be my playroom. Therefore, what’s in that room is mine.” He smirked at her, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Even me?” she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes. 

Draco took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. After a moment, he looked down at her. He leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of her.

“Tell you what. You can keep the pyjamas, but you have to pay the rental fee every month.” His face was level with hers. 

She leaned up to wrap her arms around his neck, fingers playing with hair; her lips almost touched his. “What’s the price?” 

“How about you tell me?” His breath was hot and minty.

“Hmm,” Hermione feigned careful thought. “Maybe…a hundred kisses?” She bit her lip, something within her hoping he would request more.

He huffed a small laugh. “You’d better get started then.” 

She gently pushed her lips against his, over and over again.

They shared what had to have been _ two _ hundred kisses as Draco climbed on top of her and rolled them over on their sides.

They evaded reality perfectly, sliding their hands all over one another’s body as they rested their foreheads together. Thoughts of the upcoming rally threatened to invade her mind. She had never been one to deal with things later. She had always committed herself to preparing, planning, and practicing when she could. But with this, she was trapped. And she didn’t want to feel guilty for taking anything  _ good  _ she could get. 

“Shh.” 

She snapped her gaze to his. 

“I can practically hear your mind racing.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

She nodded and gave him a small smile. 

They shuffled their feet under the covers and curled up together. She didn’t let herself shy away from him looking at her; from him taking in the sight of her near-nakedness, even as they were under the blankets. She let him see her. And she saw him.

\--

_ “Your stupid, perfect hair,” he whispered.  _

_ Hermione felt the tightening between them as he pushed her harder against the wall. _

_ Fingers weaved through her hair, gripping her lightly and angling her to a position where she could kiss him properly again. _

_ Deep kiss after deep kiss, she couldn’t believe the haze of bliss she was in; like they were swaying in the club under the Lovebomb again. But this time, they didn’t need any potions. _

_ Draco’s hand left her hair, slowly working its way down her body.  _

_ When he got to the hem of her jumper, he worked his fingers underneath again, and she watched as he hesitated, giving her a look. He wanted permission. _

Yes. Take it.  _ She nodded. _

_ He dropped her feet to the floor and moved with seeker-like reflexes, grasping the jumper like a snitch and pulling it over her head. His lips met her skin immediately as he kissed his way down to her breast…lower…and lower…  _

_ His eyes glistened up at her, asking in his gaze if he was allowed to keep going. _

_ Her teeth pressed into her lip as she nodded again.  _

_ “Are you sure?” he breathed against her stomach.  _

_ She knew he was staring into dark eyes, wide with anticipation. _

_ “Yes,” she breathed. _

_ He smiled against her bare skin, then pulled out his wand and vanished the rest of her clothes.  _

_ The cold air hit her skin, and she realized how exposed she was.  _

_ He peppered perfect kisses down further, never breaking eye contact.  _

_ She tried to keep her mouth closed; thought far too much about how she looked at this angle.  _

_ He was inching closer to her core, and the anticipation pulsed within her. She was throbbing for it. She couldn’t keep her eyes locked to his any more, as much as she wanted to. Her head fell back just as he slid down and pressed his lips lightly to her.  _ There. 

_ “God.” It was involuntary. She couldn’t think anymore, which was exactly what he had wanted. And as much as she hated having such little control, she fucking loved it just then. “Yessss,” she hissed. _

_ He groaned against her, the buzz only increasing her pleasure. _

_ She had no idea how long it had been since they had made it to the lounge. For all she knew, time had stopped and they were the last people on Earth.  _

_ He pushed her harder against the wall, lifting one of her legs over his shoulder and fully taking her in…sucking…licking… _

Fuck.

_ She had never been taken to the heights he was taking her.  _

“God, Drac-”  _ she gasped before she could finish his name. _

_ His moans buzzed against her.  _

_ At that point, all she could do was arch her back and press against the wall to steady herself. She ran her hands over her own body, squeezing her breasts. She smoothed her fingers over her stomach and reached for his head. She didn’t mean to do it. She flattened her hand against his head and pressed him closer to her.  _

_ Her breathing was heavy and ragged. _

_ “Come,” he said, just as he had said so many times before. Except this time, the command sent her over the edge. _

\--

Hermione’s eyes snapped open, her body still twitching with the force of her orgasm. She struggled to regulate her breathing. Turning her head slowly, she checked to see if she had woken Draco: he was fast asleep, his bare shoulders peaked out above the comforter.

_ Oh, I’m so fucked. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: March 10, 2021


End file.
